


The World Away.

by withoutwords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Family, Future Fic, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In other news, sources suggest Golden Globe winner Dylan O’Brien and his former </i>Teen Wolf<i> co-star Tyler Hoechlin will be once again joining forces for a new film by Johnathan Wall. Details of the production are sketchy, though we wonder whether the suspected fall out between O’Brien and Hoechlin some five years ago will be the main attraction for viewers ...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Away.

**Author's Note:**

> So many, many thanks to the beta team, chemm80, mslasha and powerwithapen. Your help and feedback was so invaluable, and encouraging, thank you for being gentle with my overuse of hyphens and creative license. 
> 
> A special mention to sometimesophie’s [The Untitled Padalecki Project](http://sometimesophie.livejournal.com/14570.html), which some of you out there may remember. Back when I was in the SPN RPS fandom that story was very special to me, and although it didn’t inspire this directly [and although I could never do that amazing story justice] they are very similar plot wise so if you like this premise you’ll love that fic!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this :)

**2020.**

Tyler’s half-naked and crusty with old sweat when the call comes through. He imagines he’s a picture of loveliness - hanging out of the tiny wading pool his sister’s kids left here last week with a beer bottle loose in his hand. It’s late July and it’s hot and there’s no one here to judge him. He belches, and answers his phone.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hoechlin?”

Tyler sits up and peers blearily at a mostly naked body lying on the grass a few feet away. Mark, he thinks, or Billy. Passed out, it seems, but still breathing. “That’s me. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Hoechlin, my name’s Natalie Wood-”

“Wow, really?”

“Yes, born and raised,” she says with a huff of a laugh. “Mr. Hoechlin, I’m calling on behalf of Victor Hart, from _Hart to Hart Studios_? I contacted your manager but he explained you were on some sort of hiatus.” 

Tyler gapes at the phone like a fish. “Uh …”

“Mr. Hart was hoping you would like to come down and meet with him about a new movie, anyway, perhaps consider getting back into the business?”

Last night’s party was fairly epic, but Tyler hadn’t gone overboard. He definitely hadn’t had enough to drink to render him completely unintelligent this morning. And yet, “I don’t understand,” is all he manages to say because he really, really doesn’t understand. 

The last role he played was a disgruntled customer on an episode of _The Good Guys_ , and no one is expecting that show to get picked up next season. Victor Hart wins _Oscars_. 

“Mr. Hart has it on good authority that you would be perfect for this role, and he insists that you come down and meet with him. Can I organize a time now?”

Mark rolls over and groans, catching Tyler’s shocked expression and laughing so much he throws up. “Yeah, yes. Let’s organize a time.”

*

It’s not that Tyler’s short on money, he’s not desperate. He could wait tables for the rest of his life, travel the world and retire comfortably; he’s _doing fine_. It’s just that he can’t remember the last time work was _good_. He can’t remember the last time he went to bed and thought, _today I made a difference, today I'm proud to be what I am_.

These days he can barely figure out what he is. Part-time personal trainer and nanny ( _“Can I call you a Manny?” his brother Tanner had asked, “Is that still a thing?”_ ); infrequent and often-rebuffed actor. He doesn’t have a clue. He also doesn’t know if it matters, or if he’s just worried that it should. If maybe his self-inflicted shame when people ask, “what are you doing for work?” is the only real issue here.

“You probably just need to get laid,” Billy assesses, watching Tyler nervously attempt to knot his tie in the mirror from his place on the couch eating ice-cream. “Take the edge off,” he adds with a smirk, giving Tyler a not-so-subtle once over. Tyler rolls his eyes. He’s thirty-three and lives alone but some days – most days – it feels more like he lives in a frat house full of teenage slackers.

“Yeah, I think _that’s_ the problem,” Tyler bites sarcastically, ripping the tie off altogether. “I look like a moron, don’t I? I look like the guy on the _Tampax_ ad who’s trying to buy them for his girlfriend and doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”

“Uh-”

“I’m reading for Victor Hart,” Tyler says as if the more he says it the more it might feel real. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. He mutters and grumbles and checks his pockets for the umpteenth time because he’ll probably forget something. He’s bound to forget something. “I should be delivering him a sandwich not reading for a lead role in his movie ...”

“Ty, _seriously_? Don’t be that guy. You are not that guy.”

“It’s like going to a gun fight with-”

“Okay, stop,” Billy cuts in. “Stop with the similes and the deprecation and,” he twirls his spoon around, “Whatever this is. Someone _recommended you_ , which means _they want you_ , which means you have to go in there and show them why they do. You’re a goddamn good actor, and didn’t catch a lot of breaks, but now’s your time, _this_ is your break.”

Tyler blinks at him a few times, blindsided. “I thought you majored in Art History, not motivational speaking.”

“Eat me,” Billy says, but he’s laughing. 

Tyler checks his pockets one last time.

*

Victor Hart reminds Tyler of an old baseball coach he had once, tall and strapping with just a little paunch on his belly, and thinning hair on the top of his head. The difference here is, Coach Flinders would not have been caught dead in suit jackets or loafers and hated the word ‘sir’ to his very core.

“Thank you, again, for having me sir,” Tyler says as he, Hart and Natalie Wood settle into a private conference room. Tyler can already feel the sweat starting to pool at the base of his neck, and his cheeks are sore from smiling.

“Not a problem, not a problem,” Hart replies, flicking through some papers while he taps a pen against the desk. “We know this is all somewhat sudden, and there aren’t a lot of details on the production yet, but when Dylan insisted we have you read for us-”

“Dylan?” Tyler repeats, and it’s some kind of joke, really, the time it takes to figure out _who the hell is Dylan?_ Tyler runs hot and cold in the space of two seconds, feels his fingernails dig unconsciously into his thigh. It’s that feeling he gets when he calls for his sister Carrie’s kids and they don’t answer, the feeling when his phone rings in the middle of the night and he can’t help but assume the worst. It’s boldfaced, undeniable dread. “You mean Dylan O’Brien?”

“Yes, that’s right. You haven’t spoken?”

“Uh, no,”

Victor Hart pins Tyler with a knowing look. He’s worked this business for a long time; he knows actors, and lies. “Dylan’s already secured the role of one of our leads, and when we told him we were having trouble finding the other he suggested we bring you in.”

“Oh – oh that’s-”

“He assured me that the rumors were just rumors,” Victor goes on, and this time the tone matches the looks. It’s firm with no bullshit tacked on, and Tyler needs to settle back into the character he built twenty years ago. The Actor Face. “He said that you would have no issues working together.”

Tyler wants to scoff, wants to make a big ugly noise and set him straight, but he doesn’t. He won’t. Billy’s right, he’s not that guy and he won’t let himself become it. He held back bitter, and wouldn’t resent, and if Dylan’s prepared to make it water under a bridge then Tyler can do that too.

“Of course not.” 

He needs to call his manager.

*

The character’s name is Carter Hobbs. CJ, to his friends, and to his wife before she was killed; Dad, once, to his son who’s dead now too. Random, was the final statement, _random killings_ , and maybe CJ’s just a physical therapist but he thinks bullshit, _he knows better_.

If the police want to put the case on the backburner, CJ’s going to take matters into his own hands. He closes his clinic, disconnects his phone and walks into the office of Mackenzie Klein. A pale, wiry, sloppy-looking guy with glasses, and moles dotted all over his face.

“Hi, I’m Mack,” the script reads (dry, good humoured, unprofessional). “I’ll be your Private Investigator for today.”

Tyler nails his audition.

*

With Brittany, and before things went south, Tyler always figured they’d have kids. It wasn’t anything but a passing thought, an ideal, really, natural progression. That thing you did after courtship, and living together, and yeah, probably marriage. Except he’d tried marriage, he’d tried out the elaborate setting, the ring and the question and she’d said, “Oh, Ty, really? Is that _really_ what you want?”

He didn’t have the script for that, he didn’t have words, so they just got drunk and had a lot of sex and laughed because life wasn’t a movie, because she said no and they were okay. _Tyler_ was okay, and if people wanted to suggest he was looking after his sister’s kids to fill some void (no partner, no babies no _family at home_ ) then let them.

“What’s this mean?” Carrie’s five year old daughter, Pattie, asks, tracing the lines in Tyler’s forehead with her pudgy little index finger. They were lying face to face on the floor, Tyler wearing Carrie’s red and white polka dotted apron.

“It means he’s old,” her brother Lincoln teases, his eyes barely leaving the TV screen. The timer ticks on the bench, warning him that he only has a few minutes left of playing his game before it’s time to go outside.

“Thanks, buddy,” Tyler groans, head rested on his hands, but Pattie rises quickly to his defense, as ever.

“Nuh-uh, he’s only got it some of the times,”

“It’s just something that happens when I’m thinking,” Tyler assures his niece. “You know, like when I ask you who you like better, Anna or Elsa.”

Pattie’s forehead crinkles as she considers it. “That’s hard.”

“Exactly. I’m just thinking about something, and it’s hard to think about.”

“Oh.”

The two of them are quiet for a while. Tyler’s not sure if Pattie’s concerned for him or if she’s still considering the merits of Disney princesses. Her little cheeks are blown out and the dark curl of her hair falls into her face, and she opens her mouth as if to say something but it’s Lincoln who pipes up.

“Mom says you should talk about stuff. If it makes you sad.” He has the game paused and he’s looking at Tyler with those big, brown eyes. If Tyler ever pretended to be a strong man, these two were his kryptonite, no question. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Link, that’s really nice, but -” The timer buzzes, rattling hard against the marble of the benchtop. Tyler figures this is his lucky day. “But I’d rather go out and play some ball. You in?”

*

Lincoln has an old, worn-out baseball glove that Tyler gave him when he turned 5. It’s funny to think about the secrets it held, sitting in the backseat of Tyler’s car while Tyler kissed his date goodnight, fallen back behind his bed to make way for UC Irvine and new gear, hanging in Tyler’s _Teen Wolf_ trailer while a group of them read through their lines.

Tyler’s like that, in a way. Worn out, and lined with all these memories. He’s had some bad years, he figures, and sometimes he feels older than he is.

Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t fit.

*

Tyler keeps the movie and the Dylan-thing close to his chest over the next few days. Outside of Billy, no one knows he’s had the read-through, and Tyler’s regressed into a juvenile state of mind: ‘if I don’t think about it I can pretend it’s not real’. It had worked after professional baseball had become nothing but a pipedream, and when _Teen Wolf_ finished up and he had no other prospects.

It works now, until Natalie Wood calls him back into _Hart to Hart Studios_.

“They asked me to send you straight through,” the pretty, red-haired receptionist tells Tyler when he gets there, giving him a look that on any other day Tyler would make the most of. But today is today and possibly the first day of a whole new beginning.

“Thank you.”

Tyler knocks gently before moving inside, and if he’d thought it would buy him some time to catch his breath he was wrong. Dylan’s there, the same old Dylan, and Tyler loses his breath altogether. He thinks he might lose his breakfast.

“Tyler, come in.”

Dylan all but leaps out of his chair, just standing next to it and carding a hand through the mess of his hair. _Old habits_ , Tyler thinks to himself, taking stock of how Dylan looks now, at least how he looks in person. Tyler sees plenty of him on TV, in his sister’s magazines, on billboards.

“Good morning,” Tyler greets with a smile and a nod of his head. Victor and Natalie are watching them both like they’re at match point and someone’s about to fumble the serve. “Hey, Dylan, it’s good to see you.”

Dylan seems bolstered by the lie, comes forward with a grin and a proffer of a handshake. “You too, man, it’s been too long.”

If Tyler were sentimental – and okay, maybe he is – he’d think about the first time they did this, more than ten years ago. Back then they’d been nervous about the prospect of working at all; now they were nervous about working together. About depending on each other, trusting, when all of that was gone now. What was he doing here?

“Gentlemen, please sit down,” Hart invites them, gesturing to the chairs. Tyler tries to avoid eye contact as he does, Dylan’s presence heavy beside him and Tyler’s fingertips digging into the arm of the chair with the weight of it all. “Tyler, we were just talking to Dylan about your first read through. The way you attacked the character and how we think it might compliment his own style, how he perceives Hobbs and by extension Klein-”

“Yeah, man,” Dylan cuts in, shifting in his seat so his body is turned towards Tyler’s. “Like, Vic was saying that you had that blank face kind of anger about it, how CJ has nothing left but this, right? Which totally blindsides Mack, because he’s used to all these jilted women coming in sobbing all over him and now he has this -”

“Okay, Dylan, let’s just …” There’s a fatherly twinkle in Hart’s eyes that takes Tyler back. It reminds him of anyone and everyone that used to come into contact with Dylan and just be snap-of-his-fingers enamored. It took _nothing_ , and Tyler never used to be immune. “How about you both take it from Scene Eight, in the café.”

“Awesome,” Dylan says, and he’s smiling, and Tyler wants to know how he just _does that_ , just gets on with it like … Tyler takes the script and shuts up. 

“I have to tell you,” Dylan is saying, as Klein, before Tyler barely hits on the page. “When you walked into my office this morning I thought – I guess I had one of those film noir, orchestra building, _Casablanca_ moments, you know?”

Tyler allows for a significant pause. CJ’s not a man for these games. “This isn’t a love story.”

Dylan snaps his fingers. “You bring a murdered family to me, and it’s _not a love story_? Mr Hobbs-”

“Carter.”

“Carter,” Dylan waves his hand, conceding, and then he smiles like maybe he’s the cleverest P.I that ever put his name on a card. “It’s always a love story. Everything else just gets in the way.”

*

Tyler’s not the same guy he was at 30, or 25, and certainly not 21. He knows his life views have changed a little; he knows that people joke he’s become jaded, or something. That he used to be Peter Pan and is now more like Hook, which isn’t true at all but he understands the sentiment. He hadn’t realized that people relied on him to be sweet, and unendingly positive, and it’s not that he doesn’t have the same values, and it’s not that he doesn’t believe everyone deserves the very best. He just doesn’t fly the flag anymore. He just is.

“I’m sorry, could you go over that one more time?” Colton says over the phone after a pause so pregnant Tyler’s feeling the contractions. This isn’t his best day. “Maybe you could tell me in Hindi or something, because I’m not getting it in English. You and Dylan … what?”

“We … met up. For a movie.”

“A movie he’d already signed on to?”

“Yes.”

“Then requested you personally?”

Tyler slumps backwards onto the bed where he’d been sitting, letting out a conversation’s worth of breathing. “Right.”

“Wow. That’s, I mean … descriptive words fail me just, wow.” Colton quietens for a moment, then adds, “What’s ‘wow’ in Hindi?”

“I haven’t had the green light, yet,” Tyler pushes on, which is only half true, really. He’s had a light of some kind, maybe amber, and maybe talking to _Colton Haynes_ means he’s going too fast. “But – shit, Colton, this is the best thing I have ever done, maybe the best thing I’ll ever do, and-”

“Have you talked to him? For real I mean, not that Perpetually-Polite-Hoechlin bullshit, like, _really talked_.”

“To say what? Hey, Dylan, it’s been fun pretending you don’t exist for five years but let’s put all that aside and make a movie together?”

“I was thinking more like: ‘Hey, Dylan, let’s finally get to the bottom of why you pussied out on something that was important to me, that was important to- ’”

“Why, though?” Tyler cuts in, balling the duvet in his hands and evading. “He said his piece. He made his choice.”

“It was a long time ago.” Colton reminds him and Tyler shakes his head. It feels like only yesterday.

“No, it really wasn’t.”

*

Tyler remembers sitting next to Dylan at their first read through. It had been quiet – he can’t remember why – and Dylan leaned over to say,

“Knock, knock.”

Tyler kept his eyes on his script but couldn’t help a little smirk. “Who’s there?”

“Interrupting werewolf.”

“Uh … interrupting were-”

When Dylan cut in with an almighty howl, Tyler’s whole body jolted and made Dylan dissolve into a fit of giggles. He was hunched over the table, punching the surface, while Tyler looked at him completely bemused.

“This is going to be _great_ ,” Dylan had said through his gasps, and Tyler finally began to laugh.

*

Tyler had hated maintaining Derek’s physique, for _Teen Wolf_. There was fit, which came naturally, and then there was _werewolf_ fit; and for all the CGI bullshit they’d had to endure he’d longed for the day when a computer could make him just seem ripped and be believable. Dylan and Posey, and hell some days _Holland_ , would actually sit in front of Tyler doing chin-ups while eating _Krispy Kreme_ and drinking something that looked like a coronary in a take-out cup.

In the end the years of torture paid off, because now he was running his own personal training business from the comfort of the back yard. His has-been celebrity status didn’t hurt, it drew in the customers, so he was working solid hours. If he’d let go of the floundering hope he’d make it back on a screen one day he might have made something more permanent of it.

“Tell me again.” Liza, one of his clients, is coming back from the bathroom and wiping her mouth on her towel. “Vomiting – good sign, bad sign?”

“I’d say bad,” Tyler says, clicking his pen and barely looking up from his clipboard. “I don’t like people suffering for their exercise. You should enjoy it.”

Liza scoffs and slugs back some water. She’s such a petite thing, with wild curly hair; the complete opposite of her husband that looks like a giant bear coming down from the mountain. “Then I’m vomiting because …”

“You’re not eating right, is my guess. Your body can’t sustain the developing routine. Would you like me to work with you on your nutrition, figure out the things you’re not-”

“Ty?” Liza cuts in, pulling a face. “Seriously, I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel like I’m talking to a robot. That pudgy white thing on Big Hero 7 that my kids are obsessed with. Or is it 8 now? Whatever, what’s with you?”

Tyler puts down his papers and curses himself. “Sorry, I’m just – sorry.”

“It’s fine, hon. I’m just worried. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I -”

Tyler’s phone rings in his pocket, a new song Lincoln programmed on there that makes Pattie squeal excitedly every time it comes on. Tyler holds up a finger to apologize and quickly answers the call. “Hello, Tyler Hoechlin speaking.”

“Tyler, it’s Gary.”

The manager extraordinaire. It had been such a short space of time but Tyler had already forgotten what it was like to pass all of his movements through someone else first. “Oh, hey Gary, how are you?”

“I’m good. Actually, I’m pretty great,” Gary says, laughter in his voice. He sounds like a little kid with his pockets full of candy. “I just talked to Natalie Wood. I’m calling to let you know CJ Hobbs is all yours. You’re in.”

Tyler’s heart literally skips a beat and he falls back into the chair behind him. “Oh, that’s, _shit_ ,” Tyler says, because his mom can’t hear him and he barely has anything else to say. “That’s amazing, I mean – shit.”

“She said no one else came close. That you’re perfect for this role and your chemistry with Dylan … well, basically you’re both going to be great.”

“Wow. Thanks, man, just - wow.”

Gary covers a few things with him briefly - a few meetings, initial read-throughs, dates on when shooting is expected to start. Tyler hopes he’s going to get a reprieve later, maybe hit up Natalie Wood for some reminders, because all he has going through his head right now is _perfect_ and _chemistry_ and _in_.

“What was that about?” Liza asks, almost breathless, when Tyler hangs up from the call.

“Oh, I -” Tyler looks at the phone as if he’s imagined the whole thing. “I’m gonna need to set you up with a new trainer.” 

*

Dylan O’Brien won a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Mini Series or Television Movie. Tyler watched it at some unspecified time of night, alone, his knees tucked up to his chin and the remote tucked under his foot in case it all got too much. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve it, or that Tyler didn’t want to see him succeed; it was the thought that had things been different they would have celebrated it together.

Today, just looking at him, Dylan is the same guy. A t-shirt, and jeans and a nervous tug of his collar. He smiles lop-sided and his eyes change color in the light and as much as Tyler wants to push him away he wants to pull Dylan in and say, “I knew you could do it. I believed in you.”

Dylan just never felt the same.

“Hey, Hoechlin,” he says, shaking Tyler’s hand, just like the other day, just normal. “Congratulations on getting the part, man, I’m really excited.”

“Yeah, thanks, me too.”

They just stand in each other’s company for a moment, people rushing by, the cut and call of voices in the distance. Tyler’s having trouble trying to remember today’s schedule. There’s a meeting, he thinks, more read-throughs, script edits and brainstorming. Truthfully he’s never been given this much artistic license, never had a producer say to him, _tell us how you feel about this_ , and mean it completely. He wonders if it’s Dylan’s influence.

“Have you met Jonathan yet? The director?” Dylan asks, folding his arms and scratching at an elbow. He’s broader in the chest than he ever was, bigger shoulders and arms. Tyler remembers Dylan’s laissez-faire attitude to exercise back then and thinks it has to have changed.

“Uh, no,” Tyler puts his hands in his pockets to stop them from doing something he’ll regret. Like shaking. “No, I haven’t really met anyone.”

“Right, well, there’s time for that I guess.”

Too much time. “How are you, anyway?” Tyler asks politely, fuck what Colton says. Polite got him this far. “I mean you’re obviously doing well.”

“Yeah, man, things are great. How about you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you – do you see anyone from back then?” Tyler says. He’s stumbling through, avoiding the words ‘Teen’ or ‘Wolf’ on the chance it might detonate this bomb. “Posey … or?”

“Yeah, yeah, I saw Posey yesterday actually. Did you know he’s producing _Timothy’s Girl_?”

“I’ve heard of that – that’s got-”

“Oh, that guy, yeah, he’s incredible, what’s his name?” Dylan allows a small punch of laughter that twists down Tyler’s spine, familiar. “Well he’s great and Posey’s involved, so he’s super excited man.”

“That’s awesome. I’m really glad.”

“You? You speak to Colton, JR, Ian, all those guys?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re still around. I probably couldn’t get rid of them if I tried.”

Dylan laughs again, head bowed just a little, kicking his toe. He used to do that when Tyler gave him shit about his popularity, or told him he was pretty, or asked him if he could sign his copy of _The Maze Runner_ so he could one day pay for his kids’ college tuition. He did that when he wasn’t sure of himself, and it gave Tyler a little confidence. Safety in the knowledge that Dylan understood this wasn’t easy.

“Dylan! Tyler!” someone calls from the foot of the elevator, and Dylan waves to suggest they will be there in a moment.

“We should really catch up, you know.” Just as Colton has suggested, _for real_ , like the last five years had been a lie or something. “We could go out for a drink, or …?”

“Sure,” Tyler allows, because this isn’t the time to start an argument. “We’ll catch up.”

*

Dylan used to hate being in front of the camera as _Dylan O’Brien, The Actor_. He hated answering inane questions, and making nice; he hated playing the role that wasn’t scripted. Tyler remembers how Dylan used to make fun of him. _Humble Hoechlin_ , he’d say, _Handsome, humble Hoechlin always saying the right thing_. He thought Tyler had the Media wrapped around his finger.

When someone puts a camera in his face these days and says,

“What can you tell us about the project you’re doing with Dylan O’Brien?”

or

“Is it true you had a fight with Dylan O’Brien because he left _Teen Wolf_?”

all he can think do is smile and say,

“No comment.”

It’s not a lie, at least. 

*

There’s a little bar called _Hennessey’s_ , shrouded in the protection of an anonymous alley that Tyler likes to frequent with the guys. On the outside it’s dilapidated and nothing to speak of, but inside it’s bright, loud and for lack of a better word, happy. Tyler rounds up his friends in a pseudo-celebration for getting the part, but his main objective is to get drunk and stay positive.

“I hear he hasn’t changed,” JR says. He, Tyler, Colton and Ian are huddled in a booth over beer. Billy, Tanner and Mark must have sensed the need for privacy because they’re off flirting with bartenders and rounding up some people for a game of pool. “I mean, I hear from him and he doesn’t seem to have changed.”

“Hardly the issue here,” Colton offers. “Since he’d already changed.”

“Look,” Ian cuts in, and Tyler steadies himself. If there’s anyone who will tell him straight up that he’s being a dick, it’s Bo. “Do you want to be his friend again? Or do you just want to bear his company long enough to get through this production?”

“The latter,” Tyler says without thinking. He knows it means something, that they haven’t even said his name. 

“Then enough, Ty.” Ian pushes Tyler’s beer closer to him. “He opened the door for you but _you_ walked in, you closed the deal. Be a man, do your work and move on.” 

“I hate to be the voice of reason,” JR says sarcastically. “But those boys have a long history. You can’t just flick a little switch and have a _Spotless Mind_.”

“Have you talked to Posey?” Colton asks, getting off topic.

“No. If I called him after all this time he’d see right through me.”

“So? He’s one of Dylan’s best friends, he can probably see right through you already.”

Tyler smudges his thumb through the wet coat of his glass. It’s his usual drink, at his usual table, and if it was a usual night he’d be singing along to some ACDC and gearing up to go grab another round. “Bo’s right.”

“ _Thank you_.” Ian says, and Tyler rubs at his forehead suddenly exhausted.

“We’ve all moved on, haven’t we?”

“I know _I_ have,” Colton admits. “ _But_ -”

“I’m a bigger man than this, right? Aren’t I?”

JR sighs and drains the last of his beer. “You’ve dealt with a lot worse.”

“You’re making a movie with Victor Hart,” Ian feels the need to point out. “This could set you up, Tyler. You’re going to risk that because of a spat you had with a guy who was your friend once?”

Tyler knows what he’s doing. Minimize the situation, lessen the pain. Like ripping off a Band-aid. “He wants to have lunch.”

Colton spits up some of the beer he was in the process of drinking, choking into his elbow. “Sorry,” he says, wet and stinging, and Tyler doesn’t know why but it makes him smile. “Sorry, not to laugh at – oh, man, remember when Jeff paid for that fancy lunch in Atlanta and Dylan had the napkin in his collar and it was dipping into his drink?”

“Jesus,” Tyler says, grinning, because he does, and he remembers how embarrassed Dylan was, how innocent, and the way Posey had snuck him a new one without poking fun. They were family. “He pulled his wallet out at the end, remember?”

“I took it off him and he had coupons, man, and like, twenty three dollars.”

Colton and Tyler are shaking their heads, thinking about it, thinking about the million little things and the weight of it. Ian was right, but he was also very, very wrong. 

“I think we need something stronger,” JR says, and Tyler raises his glass to the proposal. 

*

Tyler feels his first pang of pride when Carrie wipes her tears into his shoulder. He’d opened with, _I’m really sorry_ , but she had dismissed his apologies before he could say _my first lead role_. She wasn’t sobbing, thankfully, but she sniffed and she wrenched at his shirt and she grinned at him so reminiscent of Pattie that he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’ll be back on board once filming’s done, at least working around the press and-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, waving a hand at him, while their brother, Tanner, looks on amused from the kitchen. He always comes to Carrie’s house because she’s the only one who feeds him. “Pattie goes to school, and Link’s there to get her to outside hours care. I mean they’ll _miss_ you, Ty-”

Tanner snorts and Carrie throws him a sharp look. “But Paul and I will work it out.”

“Listen to you,” Tanner says around a mouthful of apple. “Oh no, I have to go film a blockbuster movie and won’t be able to play tea parties with Pattie.”

Tyler flips him the bird but he’s smiling. “I’ll have you know I make an excellent Red Velvet cake.”

“What’s the deal with you and O’Brien anyway? I know you said you had _artistic differences_ , but that’s weak.”

“Tanner,” Carrie says in her warning tone. Tyler has no doubts that she’ll still be using that when they’re geriatric. “Tyler doesn’t-”

“Oh come on, like we don’t sit around talking about it when he’s not there.”

“You do?”

“Of course we do!”

“Tanner!”

Tanner abandons the apple, throwing his hands up and joining them in the main room. Tyler feels like he’s suddenly under a microscope. As if he’s wired up to a lie detector and anything he’s about to say will make the machine peak off the charts. “I’m sorry, you know I’m not great at tact, but Ty. You can count the amount of people you dislike on _less_ than one hand and most of those people are bad.”

“I don’t dislike him,” Tyler says, a knee-jerk reaction. “We just couldn’t agree on things, and had to go our separate ways.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know, T,” Tyler snaps, pissed off now. “The show, and our careers, and life, okay? What business is it of yours, or Mom’s, or Dad’s, or anyone’s?”

“We worry about you,” Tanner says, sincere but keeping his distance. Beyond brothers they’re good friends, and Tanner knows how to read him. He knows the tone of the conversation’s changed. “You haven’t mentioned his name in five years and now you’re going to spend every day with him for what, six months? 

“It’s work. Hell it’s _life-changing_ work,” Tyler snaps, moving away, pacing, regardless of the fact that Tanner will read him like a book. Tanner will know he’s covering up. “You think I’m petty enough to turn it down because Dylan and I aren’t friends? I’ve worked with plenty of people I could never be friends with. What’s that got to do with it?”

“You _were_ friends though, right? I mean, living together, and the cooking, and Jesus, the _baseball_ , he helped you finally come to terms with all that - you told me yourself.”

“Please stop, please just – stop.”

Carrie came up and put a hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t throwing Tanner withering looks anymore; she knew he had hit on something. “Tyler – if you want to talk…”

“I really don’t.”

“Well, we’re here for you anyway.”

He knew that was something he’d always be able to count on.

*

Dylan’s wearing his Mets cap that wasn’t subtle _ten years ago_. There’s a little hole in the shoulder of his tee and he’s biting at his fingernail, at the skin of his finger. A strawberry milkshake the size of his head sits on the table between them, untouched. Tyler’s lost count of how many minutes have passed in silence. He’s not sure he’s surprised by the development. Nor disappointed.

“Tell me you want to do this,” Dylan finally says, grabbing for the straw of his drink. “I know you accepted the role, and I’m sure you – I mean it’s a great film.”

Tyler clears his throat, “It is, it’s – of course I want to do it.”

“You’re great,” Dylan says out of nowhere, and Tyler’s still not used to the way Dylan won’t look at him when he talks. His eyes pulled down, usually, soft and assuaged. Alien to Tyler. “You’re exactly how I thought …”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t … you know I didn’t do this as a favor, right?” Tyler’s fingers dig into the tabletop, scratching at the old wood. If he had claws he supposes it would be more dramatic. “I suggested you because I knew you’d be good for the role. That’s it.”

“Yeah,” Tyler mutters. “I know you don’t think you owe me anything.”

Dylan’s intake of breath is sharp, sour. “No, I just know you wouldn’t take _charity_.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“You know it’s not. Hoech, please can we-” Dylan implores. 

“What, _pretend_?” He leans in, hissing, trying not to lure an audience. The last time they fought they were alone and volume hadn’t been an issue. They’d had that in spades. “I’m trying, but you keep pulling me back in, _inviting me for lunch_?”

“I’m trying to make this as easy as possible,” Dylan says quietly, shuffling in his seat.

“How? You can’t change the past. You wouldn’t if you could.”

“You know that for sure, do you?”

“Yes, because I knew you back then.” Tyler pulls back, slamming into his chair. “Jesus. I thought I did.”

“You did, of course – you don’t understand. I couldn’t do that … I couldn’t be-”

“Typecast? Held back? You didn’t want to give the lowly fans something they had held so dear because you were afraid no one would look at you the same?”

Dylan folds his arms and meets Tyler’s gaze. The same face, and freckles, and color under his eyes. He’d always complained he never got enough sleep. No doubt he was getting even less these days. “I owed the fans a lot, but not – not my life.”

“God, your life?” Tyler mocks. “Stiles and Derek getting together – having to be intimate with a man on screen – that would have _ruined_ your life?”

“No – yes – that’s not – haven’t we been through this?”

They had, but it was brief. It was like a bomb going off, and afterward there’s just a ringing in your ears and you don’t know where you are or how you got there. Dylan had said ‘ _I told Jeff that I’m not going to do it_ ’ While Tyler had said ‘ _let’s talk about this_ ’ and ‘ _no is no I’m not an idiot I know what I want_ ’ and just shouting. Spitting, angry words that ended somewhere around Tyler saying ‘ _you’re a fucking coward_ ’ and Dylan saying ‘ _fuck you_ ’ and walking out.

Tyler had hated Dylan, and hated himself, so no one was more surprised than he that they managed to get through the rest of Season Five. The press, interviews, photo shoots, farewell parties, and fan meet and greets. If they wanted to laud Dylan and give him awards they should have given him one for that performance. For being buddies with Tyler until the job was finally done.

“Yeah, we have,” Tyler concedes. “So why did you invite me here?”

“I don’t know,” Dylan says, shaking his head and throwing some notes on the table. The food hasn’t even arrived yet, but he was pocketing his wallet and getting to his feet. “I guess I’ll see you on set.”

*

Dylan was truly one of a kind. He waxed poetic about his family, his friends, his craft, and danced any time he had space. He saved milk for Tyler’s coffee, called his mom most days, laughed so loud you could hear him two sets over. He was flawed to the bone, too messy and too forgetful and too serious sometimes, then not serious enough. But he owned it. He wore it like a badge of honor, because he knew that’s how others related to him.

Dylan was a wonderful person and friend.

Then he left _Teen Wolf_ and closed the door on Tyler’s career.

*

CJ brought Klein back to the house. Tape, dust and blood still littered each room; photo frames askew and garbage piling on the floors. CJ gave Klein a rumbling, impassive recap of the events as he knew them until he almost stepped on a ragged, filthy toy wedged under a chair. He stopped mid-sentence and crouched for the plushie, holding it in weak hands.

“What is it?” Klein asks, somewhere above him.

“A – uh, a sloth. It’s – Patrick’s sloth.” The space of time they’ve known each other is like a drop in the ocean, but CJ can’t control the gasp in his breath, the sadness threatening to consume him. Under normal circumstances CJ would avoid showing emotions to a man he just met. What’s normal anymore?

“Cute,” Klein says fondly. “He didn’t want to be boring and go with a teddy bear?”

“No, we – we bought it for him.” CJ plays at the matted fur of the toys long arms, the head that Patrick always worried in his mouth when he was tired and sad. “When he was a baby he slept so much we thought he was sick or something. He wasn’t; he just liked to sleep. So we called him Sloth, bought him the toy, and …”

“That’s nice.”

CJ breaks like the pressured walls of a dam, just crouched on the floor where his family was murdered, heaving with wracked sobs. Klein sits on the arm of the chair and rests a hand on his back, CJs cries echoing through the house. Faintly he can hear the phantom sounds of his wife’s laughter and Patrick’s giddy squeals as he chased her down the hall. As the scene draws to a close he can hear Klein whisper, “Let’s make sure it’s not for nothing, Carter.”

*

Lincoln was born on a full moon, much to the amusement of Tyler’s _Teen Wolf_ friends. He’d made it to the hospital in time to see Carrie’s husband, Paul, carrying him out of the birthing room; grinning from ear to ear and his eyes welling up with tears. At the time Lincoln was just a doll, just a perfect little _thing_ , full of possibility and yet almost impossible.

Dylan had bought a jumpsuit with the head of a wolf on it, slapped Tyler on the back and said, _congratulations Uncle Ty_ , like he knew exactly what it all meant. Tyler was pretty sure Dylan had no idea, but he appreciated the gesture anyway.

“I like my story better,” Pattie says when Tyler visits them on his only free morning for the week. She’s wearing her school dress, which apparently hasn’t come off in five days. “Daddy says bad words.”

“That’s ‘cause you were born in the kitchen,” Lincoln protests.

“Always in a hurry,” Tyler says, ruffling Pattie’s hair, and she giggles and swats at him, telling him not to mess up her braid. “We’ve gone through this a million times, Link, why are you asking again?”

“I have to do a project for school. About me, and my family and stuff.”

“You should do it on Uncle Tyler. Uncle Tyler makes movies and that’s way better than you.”

“I can’t, dur-face.” Tyler says Lincoln’s name warningly. “It’s got to be about _me_.”

“There’s lots of cool things about Lincoln,” Tyler says to Pattie, picking her up and swinging her over his shoulder. Lincoln hovers around them, laughing, trying to jump up and poke at her while she squeals in delight.

“Like what?”

“Like … when you were a baby and you were sick he used to sit in the armchair by your crib and tell you stories.”

They have paused and Lincoln is looking at the ground, blushing. “Really?”

“Yep. He wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t know near you for the first few years of your life. He even took on a kid at day care who said sisters were smelly.”

Lincoln grumbles something under his breath and Tyler would bet money it’s something like, _well now I think they_ are _smelly_. “No he didn’t!”

“He did. Then, when he was your age, he had that baseball shirt, remember?”

“Uncle Tyler!”

Pattie pulls at Tyler’s collar, and then at his face, “Yeah, I remember, it was too big and he wore it anyway.”

“Yep, but he gave it to someone at school to trade for that doll you wanted. He got in _so_ much trouble, but he wouldn’t let your mom and dad take it back because they couldn’t buy one in the store and you were so happy.”

Tyler rests Pattie on his hip now, and the two of them look over at Lincoln who is the most violent shade of red. He has his arms crossed and his bottom lip sticking out, like Tyler has wronged him for exposing him as the wonderful kid that he is.

“Wow, Link, you’re the best!” Pattie exclaims, jumping down to give him a hug, but he pushes her away, saying, “I am not!” and running into the house. Pattie follows, her arms in the air, and Tyler watches them, laughing and happy, the happiest he’s been in weeks. 

*

There are endless days of filming. 4am wake-ups and 10pm wrap-ups and as much as Tyler revels in the feeling of being truly, bone-deep tired when he crawls into bed – he’s not sure how anyone keeps this up. If it weren’t for their make-up team Tyler would be better suited to a zombie-apocalypse-slasher movie. He’d just have to walk in and they could start rolling.

When Colton calls him during a break, Tyler says, “What is it; haven’t you heard I’m really important now?” because he knows Colton will dismiss him as usual. Taking his cue Colton says, 

“Are you coming to this thing tonight?” without missing a beat. 

“What thing?” Tyler asks, and there’s quiet on the other end. Tyler has to pull his phone away from his ear to make sure the call wasn’t disconnected. It wasn’t. “Hello? What thing?”

“Uh, well, Posey’s organized a thing. I think he assumed Dylan would have told you.”

Tyler feels something pull at his chest, his eyes cutting over to where Dylan is laughing with one of the crew, and Jonathan their director. Dylan’s still in costume, a little fake blood splattered across his face, and Tyler feels like he doesn’t know that man at all. “No, I haven’t heard about it.”

“Right, well, it’s at a place on South Hill, called _Zed_. You in?”

“Is it – I mean, who’s going to be there?”

“Just us, you know. Holland, I think Keahu’s around, and Jill, the old guys. Us.”

“I’m not counted as one of the ‘old guys’ yet?” Tyler jokes, trying not to sound nervous at the prospect of them all being an ‘us’ again. He can hardly remember the last time the extended cast all got together, but he knows it was strained. He knows the way they looked at Dylan and him, like they’d broken something special.

“You’re closer than me,” Colton concedes, then, “Come on Ty, it’ll be fun. You can let loose for a night, relax. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“How do you know -”

“Call me The Long Island Medium, I’m psychic.” Colton deadpans. “I’ll pick you up at 10, yeah?”

Tyler’s outraged. “Ten? I go to bed at ten!”

“Oh, Jesus, I take it back, you are an old man.”

When they get to the club they soon discover Colton wasn’t wrong. Holland, Keahu, and Jill are there. JR and Bo arrive not far behind them. When Posey and Dylan show up they have Little Dylan and Shelley, and each new arrival clutches at Tyler’s throat. It becomes less about nerves and more about sadness, about the bittersweet memory of what was.

“Hoech,” Posey yells excitedly when he meets Tyler at the bar, slapping him on the back and ordering two of whatever he’s just had. “It’s good to see you. Man, you look really good.”

“Thanks, you too.” Tyler never got the hang of shouting to keep up with every day conversation. He always felt like he would say something stupid just as the music cut out. As if his whole life was just one cliché scene after the next. “I heard about _Timothy’s Girl_. That’s amazing.”

“Oh yeah? Dyl told you? How sweet is that? I’m so stoked.”

“So you should be, it’s well deserved.”

“So you and Dylan, you talked?” Posey calls over the music, giving Tyler a significant look. He passes a glass of something and Tyler doesn’t argue, sipping at it and trying not to pull any faces. “I mean, about everything?”

“Uh, I guess.” Tyler can only assume everything means the cold shoulders and disregard. “We agreed to disagree and get through this movie.”

“Disagree? About …”

“About _Teen Wolf_?” Tyler prompted, and then for lack of a better word: “Sterek?”

“Oh, oh right,” Posey has a face not unlike Pattie’s when she’s taken a cookie from the jar before dinner. He plays at the rim of his glass, then pastes on a smile. “I just hoped … you know.”

“We’re fine,” Tyler feels the need to point out. His life, right now, is just an endless stream of Dylan, and someone mentioning Dylan, and someone asking about Dylan and Tyler wonders if Dylan gets the same. If his whole life is Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. He’s not comforted by the thought. “He’s happy, I’m happy. We’re good.”

“Yeah, yeah man of course you are, I’m sorry to intrude.”

They take residence on a few tables by the back wall, Tyler safeguarded by JR and Bo on either side of him. The conversation remains cordial and in easy territory, no post- _Teen Wolf_ talk or awkward questions about Brittany. After a few drinks Tyler’s feeling more confident, more at ease, and when a beautiful woman approaches him as he waits by the bar all he can think is _yes_ , and _why the hell not_. 

When he says goodbye to everyone, Tyler notices the way Dylan’s eyes flicker to the woman, who is waiting.

He doesn’t know why it matters.

*

Tyler is not a one-night stand kind of man. Except he’s also not a martyr. 

Sex with strangers is a means to an end. It’s just bodies, and skin and – although plenty of fun – routine. There is so little time to be considerate or inventive, little time to get to know a person and get to know what they like. He saves that for the people he knows, and covets, for the people he sees in his future. 

Tyler supposes that’s when sex becomes a new thing – something like _making love_ – when it can be good, bad, weird, amazing, different and yet always feels the same. Always feels like the best kind of loss, like you’re just saying, _take it, take it, have me, have it all_.

He misses that a lot.

*

Later in the week, Tyler is forced to host a house party for Mark and Billy. Admittedly he has been a shitty friend, with his schedule and his mood, and on the condition they don’t have a keg (he’s thirty-three, seriously) he doesn’t really mind. It’s just a small group of no more than a dozen people, and people that he likes, so he settles happily in a chair with a beer while they all talk about the movie.

“What’s it called?” one of the women, Fern asks, perched on Billy’s lap. Tyler shrugs.

“Nothing yet.”

“The Big, Gay Revenge Movie,” Mark supplies, his arms flying out in front of him. He’s already shirtless and it’s not even nine o’clock yet. “You come to avenge your family and leave questioning your sexuality.”

“It’s not that -”

Billy scoffs, leaning forward so much Fern nearly falls off his lap. “Yes, it is,” he protests, while one of Fern’s friends, Macy, demands that Mark show her what he’s talking about. If he even thinks about showing her the pages just at the chance of getting laid, Tyler will stick him to the wall with duct tape. “Ty, are you going to sit there and tell me you haven’t felt the tension between them? That scene in the van, when Klein has-”

“His wife just died!” Tyler protests.

“Yeah, and this guy is helping him find her killer. If that doesn’t scream sexual tension I don’t know what does.”

“Okay, so,” Tyler snaps his fingers, trying to think of a good point of reference. Truthfully all he can think about is the idea that he and Dylan will be going down this road again, people hoping, speculating, and people writing stories about their characters. “ _Lethal Weapon_ -”

“Gay-”

“ _The Fugitive_ -”

“Are you kidding? That is so-”

“ _Point Break_.”

“You’re not even trying now, are you? Next you’ll be saying _Fast and Furious_.”

The others are laughing at him but Tyler just shakes his head, downing some more beer. “You’re wrong. What about the lawyer, Barrett, she’s obviously -”

“Oh, and what is with that?” Billy says, pulling a face around his bottle, pretending to puke. “Set me up a meeting with the writer, what’s his name?”

“Kurtis. Dean.”

“Yeah, set me up a meeting with him, and I’ll ask him why they _all_ do that. We couldn’t possibly have people think two men in a macho movie could want to mack on each other. Let’s devalue the characters by making the only available woman the possible love interest. Stupid. Maybe she’s going home to her wife.”

Tyler blinks at him. “I had no idea you were so passionate about gay rights.”

“Human rights,” Billy corrects, while Mark pretends to cough, ‘ _lesbians_ ’. Billy ignores him and adds, “Good writing.”

“You think the movie is badly written?”

“I think the movie is gold, Ty,” he says, and he’s grinning and Mark is hooting at him, throwing some chips at Tyler’s head. “I think it’s going to be fucking spectacular.” 

*

After _Teen Wolf_ , and before Tyler had settled into some semblance of a life, he’d a lot of nights on the sofa, a lot of time to consider how the grass is always greener. Down time had always seemed like such an amazing idea in theory, but it never was. Being here again feels like defeat, his ass molded into the cushions, his cell phone mocking him from the coffee table and some guy on the TV restoring an old jukebox that doesn’t play music anymore. 

He heard some of the crew talking about a night out, drinking and dancing and _that’s_ Tyler. Tyler is the guy buying a round and requesting music from the DJ and laughing at the people doing the Macarena before thinking fuck it and joining in. 

Tyler and his sofa aren’t that good of friends. Tyler accepted his inability to sit still a long time ago. In middle school, he thinks, or before then. He doesn’t know why he’s punishing himself. 

It’s late, when there’s a knock at the door. A heavy, unhurried knock that Tyler can’t place, and when he edges the door open it’s to see Dylan slouching under the porch light. He’s angry more than surprised. Dylan looks like he’s dressed to be out, with dark jeans and a maroon Henley that – unlike a lot of his wardrobe – isn’t crumpled or worn.

“What are you doing here?” Tyler asks once he has the door completely open. 

Dylan stands up enough to fumble around in the pocket of his jeans, saying, “I want to talk to you, I need to just …”

“Dylan, this isn’t a good time.”

“It will never be a good time.” Dylan pushes past him, unsteady footing, and Tyler hasn’t the heart to push him back out. He closes the door reluctantly, but doesn’t move too far away from it. If this goes south – and Tyler’s pretty sure it will – he’d like to be able to throw Dylan out quickly. 

Dylan just stops in the middle of the room, a handful of papers, all ruffled, muttering to himself as he sorts through them. “I was thinking about this, I forgot I had it, and I thought – I just wanted you to see – wanted you to know that this wasn’t – I didn’t-”

“You’re drunk,” Tyler surmises, pointlessly. Dylan scoffs, a wet and mocking sound.

“No shit, but I can read.” He takes a few steps forward, proffers some papers to Tyler, and Tyler doesn’t know what to do with this, just takes the papers and let’s Dylan lead the play. “After …” Dylan stops, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “I know you think that I just said goodbye to _Teen Wolf_ and went on my merry way, but it’s not true, Ty, I …”

Dylan wrenches a hand through his hair and Tyler lets his gaze flicker down to the paper. It’s handwritten, and vaguely familiar, but he knows it’s not Dylan’s. It has too much swoop, and confidence; Dylan’s handwriting was always sharp and undecided. “What is this?”

“It’s … Sterek,” Dylan says as if the word tastes sour in his mouth. “I guess. It’s Stiles, and Derek, and how it might have happened. If it happened. Jeff wrote it.”

Tyler’s fingers curl tighter around the edges, as he glances back at the sheets. These are photocopied, and old, and it doesn’t make sense. Tyler didn’t know there had even been any _concepts_ let alone ... “How did you get these?”

“I didn’t – it wasn’t like that. I mean, he wrote them because I asked him to,” Dylan says, motioning with his own papers clenched in his hand. The other hand still pulls at his hair, his face, his neck and makes Tyler want to reach over and keep him still. “Because I went to him in a mess about it all. We got drunk and put together all our ideas and … this isn’t even the whole thing it’s just the … the ending, I guess.”

Tyler huffs. “We had our ending, remember?” he bites, which isn’t true, not really. Scott and Stiles had said goodbye to Derek, as the wolf. They’d watched him walk along with Cora, Izaac, and Jackson, into the distance, the memory of Erica and Boyd trailing behind them. Tyler hadn’t even been called onto the set.

“No – we – no. Just. Would you read it with me, please?”

“What?”

“I just want you to understand what they meant to me. I helped write this, Ty, like, I spent a whole night rehashing five seasons worth of them and trying to do them … do _Stiles and Derek_ justice. I want you to – _just read it_.”

Tyler’s shaking now, his limbs so weak he can barely hold up a few pieces of paper. He finally lets his eyes settle on the writing, instead of just skimming over it. He reads the knitted scraps of vague ideas, of Stiles chasing Derek down, from the sheriff’s station, to the loft, and finally to the vault. Peter’s dead by now, but Derek plays with the triskele anyway, as if he needs help controlling himself.

When Stiles walks in Derek huffs, a muted laugh. “I knew I’d need this,” Tyler reads, and can just imagine sitting there, perching the triskele up where Stiles can see it. 

“I thought the whole thing was bogus,” Dylan replies. “A trick.”

“For Kate, it was, because she never stood for anything. For me it was my roots, my family.”

“You think if your family were here now they would tell you to stay away from me?”

“No,” Derek admits, barely a breath, looking at Stiles who’s inching closer. “They always thought I deserved the best.”

“Don’t you?”

“Sometimes I wonder if I ever deserved anything.”

“How can you say that-?”

“I’ve spent over ten years trying to make amends, and all I do is make things worse. People die, or get driven away-”

“You’re _trying_ to drive me away, Derek, you have a choice here.” 

Derek looks away again, flips the triskele around in his hands. Stiles crowds in, lets the heat of his breath pool at Derek’s neck. Derek clutches tighter to the token, begs silently for control.

“What about the things _I_ deserve?”

“You deserve to be safe, and happy, and you deserve to be loved by someone who’s whole.”

“ _I’m_ not whole,” Stiles admits, putting a hand on Derek’s face and encouraging him to turn and face it. “But maybe together we … ”

When their lips touch it’s brief and warm and Tyler gets lost in Derek for a moment, in Derek’s joy, in– 

“Christ,” Tyler hisses, stepping away, as if the whole thing was ethereal and he’s pulling away from Derek’s body. From Stiles.

“Sorry, I -”

Before Tyler can figure out what’s happening, Dylan’s gone and his script is scattered on the floor.

*

The press of Dylan’s mouth lingers for days. Tyler touches his fingers to it now and then, absent minded and unsure. He can’t remember who they were in that kiss, if they were anyone at all. Stiles and Derek were just a memory, and Dylan and Tyler were fast becoming that way, a nice idea once. Friends. 

Tyler finds he appreciates the gesture of the script. He likes the thought of Dylan thinking on it, because that’s who Dylan was. Dylan as Tyler knew him. They used to sit and dissect and pontificate about every last facet of their characters to the point even the writers wouldn’t know them.

Dylan knew Stiles better than anyone thought they did, and Tyler imagines he was a close second. 

Imagines Derek would have been too, if given the chance.

*

Tyler first swung a bat at two years old, and started practicing his pitch at three. His mom used to love telling the stories, the effortless way he stood on the field. She used to say that right there was his home, his feet in the grass and the ball spinning in. She used to, and for a while he didn’t mind that she stopped. It made it easier to push down the feeling that he was doing the wrong thing. That he was letting someone down. That two-year-old boy, maybe, and all the unselfish things he’d wanted.

On a rare day off, Tyler sets out early to head to his parents’ place. Tyler’s oldest brother, Travis, Carrie, Tanner and the kids are there too, with significant others thrown into the mix. It had always felt easier facing the hordes with Brittany, even if she teased him for using her as a buffer.

“Already?” Tyler says to his dad as he looks into the backyard and at a game of baseball that was well under way. His dad just chuckles, passing him a plate of food to take out onto the back patio.

“If you cut us do we not bleed -”

“Red, White and Blue, yeah, I know.”

As usual, his mom puts on a ridiculous feast. Tyler just has to look at it and he knows he’ll be running a few extra miles in the morning. He doesn’t comment, because it usually devolves into the boys teasing him about his _statuesque figure_ , and he could do without them running off at the mouth for one day.

“Do you shoot people in your movie?” Link asks out of nowhere, sitting on the side of Tyler’s chair with his arm around Tyler’s shoulders. It’s just the two of them, Tyler’s mom and Carrie left at the table, the others having a little walk to loosen up from lunch. It’s a perfect day, warm, the sun hitting, hot, on the back of Tyler’s neck.

“Uh, yeah, I do, buddy,” Tyler admits honestly. “But the guy, he’s not very good at it. He doesn’t like doing it.”

“Like Derek, right?” Carrie covers her face with his hand. Tyler wasn’t aware Link had come to the age where he was allowed to watch _Teen Wolf_. He’d been hoping it could wait until his forties. Or until Tyler was dead. “When he lost his powers so the pretty girl helped him use guns instead.”

“Yeah, like that,” Tyler agrees. “You’re watching _Teen Wolf_ now?”

“Just some bits. Scott’s my favorite.” That doesn’t surprise Tyler. Link’s always been into the good guys. The superheroes. “Who was your favorite?”

“Uh, Stiles,” Tyler says, grinning hollowly at Lincoln while his fingers worry a hole in his jeans. If he had a dollar for every time he’d answered that question. “Stiles was always my favorite. You know the same man who played Stiles is going to be on my new movie, too?”

“ _That’s so cool_ ,” Link says, “Can I meet him?”

“I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

“Awesome! Mom, Uncle Tyler’s gonna take me on the set of his new movie!”

Tyler opens his mouth to protest – he’s not going to make more promises Dylan O’Brien can’t keep – but Carrie just tuts at him and says, “That’s not exactly what I heard. Go find your sister, please, we’ll have some dessert and then we’ll be going home.”

Lincoln huffs and grumbles, shoulders slumped as he goes, and they all share an amused look until he’s out of their view. “Well,” Tyler’s mom says in a sigh, folding her arms. “You managed to keep that quiet. I guess I’m the last to know?”

Carrie pointedly looks away.

“Well Trav and Dad are, now,” Tyler points out. “I thought Carrie and Tan would have told you and you were all just being polite.”

“Give me some credit!” Carrie protests.

“What about me?” his mom says. “What makes you think you have to keep these things from me?”

“I wasn’t keeping anything from you!” Tyler snaps, and he’s trying, he has been trying so hard to push on and not think about all of this, and all of that and _the kiss_. He’s losing his grip. “I just didn’t see why it mattered more than the fact that I was making a blockbuster movie. What is with you people, can’t _I_ be enough right now, can’t I -”

“What’s going on?” Tyler’s Dad says, coming up the steps, and Tyler all but leaps out of his chair, snatching up his glasses.

“Nothing,” he says, escaping towards the house. “ _Nothing is going on_.”

*

CJ finds the bottom of a bottle the same day he finds out the truth. The old, musty motel floor smells like cheap carpet cleaner and he can feel a tickle of bile at the bottom of his throat. He’s done crying now, he’s _done_ , and Klein is lucky the door’s unlocked when he barges in. CJ’s not getting up again. 

“Fucking hell,” he gasps, grabbing at his sides; his shirt’s raggedy and the buttons are half undone. CJ thinks maybe he ran here. “Fucking – what are you doing? Do you know how far I -”

“She lied to me,” CJ cuts in, yelling, throwing the empty bottle aside and covering his face with his hands.

“Who?”

“Bi – _my wife_ ,” CJ says, because how does he same her name out loud? How does he stake claim to a woman he never really knew? “She lied, it was her, it _was_.”

Klein curses quietly, slumping onto the bed so his sneakers are by CJ’s head. He breathes out the word, “Carter,” like it matters to him. That another man’s wife, her betrayal, settles heavy on _his_ chest. 

“Don’t,” CJ says, shaking his head, because _bullshit_. He’s just a man being paid to find answers, and here’s one: CJ’s wife is the reason their son is dead. CJ’s wife is – was – a murderer. “Don’t tell me that she did what she thought was right, don’t tell me she was trying to protect us, don’t, don’t -”

CJ was wrong in thinking he had no tears left. He thinks Klein must know him fairly well already, because he doesn’t move any closer. He doesn’t try to console him. “I won’t make excuses for her,” Klein finally says. “She did the wrong thing, and you know it. But don’t doubt what you knew for all those years you were with her. Don’t doubt that she loved you, and she loved Patrick. And if she’d had the chance, she would have saved him. She would have saved you both.”

*

It’s stupid to suggest that filming is going well. It’s going _okay_ , Tyler can attest; they’re getting through it _fine_. It’s just not as spectacular as it could be; it’s not raw and honest and exciting. It’s not _Teen Wolf_ , and Tyler wants to stop doing that, stop comparing them to the characters they used to play, but it’s hard. That energy, that anger, that borderline hatred, they need it.

What they have now is awkward and stilted, lacking passion, lacking a lot of things. Tyler knows it’s only a matter of time before Hart, Wall, hell the whole crew, will be bearing down on them and demanding answers.

“Hey,” is Dylan’s opener when he finds Tyler outside having a quick lunch. They have so few scenes apart from each other, and Tyler’s already filmed those, so this is it now. The two of them. Every day until they’re done.

“Hi.”

“We. Uh. We kinda suck in there.”

Tyler allows for a huff of a laugh, wiping his mouth. “Yeah, we do.”

Dylan just looks at his plate. Tyler finds it unsettling to see him ponder over food. He used to eat a meal like it was the first one he’d had in days, ravenous. “Um, how do you – do you think we could do some more rehearsing together? Just go through our lines, you know?”

It’s not a ridiculous request. They should be doing it; they’re professionals, and it will make all the difference to the movie. The project that they are promised to and love. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Just tell me when’s good, okay?”

“Sure.”

Dylan doesn’t move. He stabs lazily at his chicken, all his limbs sprawled out everywhere. He looks older now, he has more stubble and a thicker throat and he takes up more space than he ever did. Which is saying a lot, really, considering how much space he used to steal. “I missed your birthday,” Tyler says without thinking, the thought just occurring to him. The last birthday of Dylan’s they celebrated together was at Tyler’s old beach house with almost a hundred something people. 

Tyler had given him some Mets paraphernalia with a heap of signatures he’d managed to collect.

“Well, it’s gone by if that’s what you mean,” Dylan says with a little smile. 

“Yeah. Right. Was it good?”

Dylan gives him a little shrug, chewing on a mouthful. Tyler tries not to look at his mouth. “What’s another birthday at this point? Yours is coming up, right?”

“Yeah.” Tyler knows what he should do. He should just say, Bo’s organizing a little get-together and you should come along. Dylan had made an effort, so why couldn’t he? Instead he hears himself say, “Yeah, it is,” his hand in a fist and something clenched in his throat.

“You remember that party you had, at _Vine_? Posey and I had to peel you off the bar because you didn’t want to leave without trying a _Slippery Nipple_.”

Tyler laughs at the memory. “That’s right, and they wouldn’t make me one. The bartender kept saying I was too much of a gentleman or something.”

“Not that night you weren’t,” Dylan says jokingly. “Dude, and you sang some Dave Matthews song all the way home and kept trying to teach me how to play the drum solo.”

Tyler covers his face with a hand. “Yeah, yeah I remember.”

“Posey had you beat on the party antics though.”

“Posey had me beat on anything inappropriate. You both did.”

Dylan laughs. The first honest laugh Tyler has shared with him in … he doesn’t want to think about how long. “Yeah. We’ve both grown up a lot. Or I like to think so, anyway.”

“You’re both doing great,” Tyler concedes, and the sidelong look Dylan gives him makes something swell in his chest. He suddenly can’t hold his plate steady. “You should be proud.”

Tyler knows it sounds like, _I’m proud_.

*

When his party rolls around Tyler already has three unanswered texts and a missed call from Dylan asking about a good time to get together. The truth is, he’s tired, physically and emotionally wrecked, and sitting in a cramped room with nothing but their characters between them sounds like too much right now. Everything is too much.

“Tell me,” Tyler is saying to Brittany, a few too many drinks and his hand on her thigh. She has a boyfriend now, and they stopped sleeping together long before that, so he hopes she understands he’s not trying to hit on her. He told her he wasn’t going to. “What you think about Dylan, and me.”

“You mean the movie?” she asks, her brow stitched and leaning close. She’s sporting light brown hair and soft curls and she’s beautiful. He’s always thought she’s one of the most beautiful women he’s ever known, and way out of his league.

“Sure – and – and when we stopped talking. Then.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits, because saying, _I can’t stop thinking about him as more than the friend I lost once_ , probably isn’t the best thing to admit when he’s this drunk. Or ever. “So many people keep telling me what they think but you – I _care_ what you think.”

“Okay, but what I think about _what_ , Ty? What he did, how you reacted to it? What?”

“I don’t know. I don’t -”

“Look, he did a shitty thing to you. To _all of you_. But in the end it was his career, and his life, and he was running it.” Brittany stirs at her before taking a final gulp. “You had every right to be angry at him, but for five years? What’s the point? You should be getting on with your life, too.”

“I am!”

“Then why are you still talking about it?”

“I don’t know.” Brittany just looks at him for a while. The way she used to when they were arguing and he couldn’t verbalize his feelings. “ _What_?”

“When we were together, did you and he …?”

“What?” Tyler just matches her unwavering gaze, waiting for an answer. In the end her lifted brows are all the answer he needs and he feels the shock like he felt the tequila before, sudden and head spinning. “No! _God, no_ , I never cheated on you, I never -”

“Okay, I was just asking. It just seems like you’re … you’re taking this really hard.”

“Fucking hell, Brit, seriously? I loved you so much.”

“I know you did, I never doubted that for a moment. I’m sorry.”

“No.” Tyler shakes his head, slumping back into his chair. She’s right; Bo’s right, and everyone else probably thinks it but is too nice to say it. He’s an idiot. “No, I’m sorry. I – we kissed the other day and now – you’re right. I’m starting to think – I’m not sure what I think anymore.”

“How was it?” Brittany asks after a pause. “The kiss.”

“It wasn’t … we were role-playing.”

“Ty!”

“Not like that!” Tyler can’t help but laugh, listening to her snort at the idea that Tyler could do anything so risqué. He was a self-confessed vanilla, even if Brittany had brought out a little crazy in him. “We were going over ideas of how the Derek and Stiles thing would have … anyway it was short and sweet and -”

“I knew it complete, when I wore another man’s _clothes_ ,” she sang, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in.

“That’s not how it…” Tyler begins, but joins in when she hits the chorus anyway.

*

When Tyler was a senior he was in love with Kevin Hopkins. It wasn’t a desperate, physical love and initially the thought of being intimate with Kevin was terrifying. Kevin was the first and only man Tyler had loved but it was real, it was a warm and slow burning; a reverent, _this is someone I could be with until I am old and grey_ naïve kind of love that Kevin was willing to explore but could never reciprocate.

He broke Tyler’s heart in the nicest possible way, telling Tyler,

“You’re a great guy,” and kissing him, and kissing him, “You’ve just gotta figure out what you want.” 

Tyler should have said, “I want you.” He should have told Kevin that his family knew and his best friend knew and _Tyler wanted Kevin_.

Except Tyler wanted so many things, and maybe Kevin was hoping to be something Tyler _needed_ too.

*

Carter’s got a gash along the side of his head, blood pooling in his ear. His ribs are broken, they must be; he pulls at his side and gasps for breath, like he’s drowning on dry land. He’s punctured something. Klein is there, hazy, coming in and out of focus and _yelling_. It’s all just white noise for a moment, badly tuned frequencies, and then Klein hits him across the face and brings him around.

“Let me see your eyes, asshole, don’t you dare -”

“Klein?”

“Mack, how many times do I have to tell you, it’s Mack,”

“Where …?”

“I’m not sure - I can’t,” Klein’s like a four year old afraid of the dark, his nails tinged pink with blood and his neck hunching at every little sound. Carter feels bad for him, suddenly, feels bad for bringing this down on him for what? For _nothing_. Or everything. 

“I don’t think we’re getting out of this.”

Their eyes meet. Tyler feels his eyes track to Dylan mouth, to the quivering curl of his top lip. He has the next line, he thinks, something about specifying what he means, or meaning what he says. _There’s a line_.

“Cut,” Jonathan says from somewhere to the left, and Dylan growls, getting up and moving away from Tyler who is still slumped on the floor.

“This is _bullshit_ ,” he snaps, ignoring someone’s soft “ _Dyl_ -” and soldiering on. “Look at me, Hoechlin. _Look at me_!”

Tyler wipes at his face, his hand coming back sticky and brown. He’s so tired. “What do you want from me?” he says slowly, with intent, because he’s just trying to do his job and Dylan is going to kill him slowly.

“Professionalism,” Dylan retorts, stepping closer again, and Tyler is only vaguely aware of people starting to drift away from them. “I thought we could be two grown-ass adults and get through this.”

“I was,” Tyler huffs, beginning the journey to his feet, and he hasn’t really been shot at and thrown across the wall but it sort of feels that way. It seems like it. “I just had a blank on the line, I wasn’t trying to -”

“What? Be resentful?”

“No,” Tyler snaps, hurt, bringing himself to full height and hoping the lack of distance will be intimidating. He knows Dylan, though, and he knows it takes a lot more than that to intimidate him. “Fuck, Dylan, every time I mess up you make out like I’m trying to sabotage this project.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Fuck you. _How dare you_.”

Dylan groans, and covers his eyes with a hand. “I’m so sick of this,” he says from behind those long, spindly fingers. “I’m so sick of the way you look at me. I don’t know what else to do, or say, I can’t be better than I am.”

“I never asked you to.”

He scoffs. “You make me pay, and pay -”

“Am I supposed to grovel at your feet?” Tyler barks, getting close enough to push Dylan’s chest with seizing fingers. “Am I supposed to thank the _award winner_ for getting me this job and pulling my career back from the brink? What the fuck am I -”

“It’s not about the job, it’s about us, it’s about me leaving and you hating me for it, but you know I had my reasons, I had -”

“Yeah, expectations, and opportunities, and career,” Tyler says, snide, and he can hear how awful he sounds but he can’t stop his mouth from moving. He doesn’t know if it’s about five years ago, or five days ago, if it’s about the kiss that’s haunting him, his feelings for Dylan. “How could you possibly hold the future of a stupid TV show on your shoulders when HBO wanted to give you the world? What were we worth compared to -”

“You were worth _so fucking much_ ,” Dylan roars, and this time he’s the one who lunges forward, pushing a surprised Tyler back into the wall, his chest heaving and his eyes glossy, flickering light. “I wasn’t carrying the show; I was carrying _you_ , and my _feelings for you_. Don’t you get it?”

“Dylan …”

Dylan shook his head, just a barely perceptible lilt, wiping at his face. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” he said softly, not meeting Tyler’s gaze. “I gave up. And I’m really fucking sorry that it meant you lost your way but I was _already lost_ , Ty. I had to get out of there. I had to get over you.”

Tyler’s fingers are flexing at his sides, with the thought of reaching out and what? What would he do with Dylan once he had hold of him? Kiss him again? Let himself be kissed? He didn’t want to make a mockery of what Dylan was feeling right now, or what he had felt back then. Tyler had been with Brittany, neck deep in the best kind of love and happiness. 

Even if he’d understood his own feelings, he wouldn’t have acted on them. He couldn’t.

“Fuck,” Dylan sighs, sucking in his emotion. “I can’t – fuck.”

Tyler watches him walk away, just like he had five years ago.

*

Colton owns a small condo near the water, all open plan and immaculate; the balmy September air rolling through. When Tyler first saw the place he stood in the foyer until Colton got angry, and said, “Oh, sorry, I was waiting for the butler to take my coat,” Colton wrestling him to the floor and sticking a spit-slick finger in his ear.

It was like having the third brother he never wanted.

“You want to write it down?” Colton says over their drinks. Tyler’s been staring at the bottom of his glass for so long he’s lost count of the minutes. 

“Huh?”

“Well, you come in here without calling – you never do that – you’ve barely said one word.” There’s a notepad stuck to the fridge and Colton throws a hand out to gesture to it. “I thought maybe you couldn’t say the words and it’d be easier to write them down.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“You got a fifty-fifty chance of it going either way, really.”

Tyler gets up for the notepad, and snatches the marker that’s stuck next to it. He writes _you are the prettiest asshole_ and sticks it back. Colton just laughs.

“Dylan and I had that talk you suggested,” Tyler finally says, slumping back onto his stool. He nods when Colton proffers the bottle at him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Apparently …” Tyler takes a breath. He knows he can trust this with Colton, and he knows he needs to say it out loud. He’s just not sure how much he can share. “Apparently Dylan pulled away from _Teen Wolf_ … from Stiles and Derek … because he had feelings for me.”

Colton spits up and chokes on his mouthful, covering his mouth with a hand. “Seriously?” he coughs, punching at his chest. “Seriously? He couldn’t pretend to bone you because he wanted to really bone you?”

“I can always trust you to make it into something dirty.”

“I’m just saying …” Colton quiets and they let it sit there for a moment. Tyler imagines Colton’s doing the same thing he’s done for the last few days. Just looking back over that time, their friendship, and trying to see it. Trying to see how Dylan’s open, loving nature towards Tyler was any different than how he was with everyone else.

It wasn’t.

“He was with that girl for a long time, though, was she just a cover?”

“No!” Tyler protests for no other reason than they both know Dylan’s a better man than that. “He loved her, I saw them together, he really loved her.”

“Well when did he have feelings for you? After her?”

“He didn’t say. He just said – he said he had feelings and he couldn’t deal with it, I don’t know.”

“Well,” Colton says, long and loaded. He’s bracing himself against the kitchen bench and shaking his head. “Well. Of all the straight boys on that show I thought he was the straightest. Behind Posey.”

“Grading on what scale?” Tyler snorts, suddenly remembering with real clarity how often Dylan commented on Tyler’s looks. 

“On who hit on me or not,” Colton says with a shrug, and Tyler is not even going to ask. Between Colton, JR and Bo he’s surprised any of the men on _Teen Wolf_ were left with their sexual identities in tact. “But seriously, when? If it was after the girlfriend and before the Sterek thing became a real possibility … how long was that?”

Tyler tilts a shoulder. “Uh, a year, a year and a half maybe? When he became busy with movies I think they had trouble making time for each other. He talked to me about it a lot, actually. Sometimes he’d come over and we wouldn’t talk at all. He had a hard time.”

“Oh my God,” Colton groans, covering his face with a hand. “You are so fucking oblivious.”

“What?”

“You helped him through what was possibly the worst break-up of his life, Ty, no wonder the guy loved you.”

“He didn’t say love.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not going to jeopardize a show that meant so much to you, to Posey, _to himself_ , just because he wanted a quick fuck in his trailer.”

“Colton,” Tyler snaps, tumbling out of his chair to turn his back. He doesn’t want to hear it that way, in any way that is sordid or overdramatic. Dylan’s confession was one of the most candid things he’d ever seen, and maybe Colton had to be there to fully get it. “Maybe it’s not just about his feelings for me, or having to face them on set, maybe it’s about his feelings for a man, for being put in the spotlight as an advocate for gay rights but feeling the pressure to be something else, to be -”

“A poster boy,” Colton says from somewhere behind him, and Tyler spins around, throwing out a hand.

“Yes. That. He loves this, you know, he loves creating stories and – God, you should see him on set, even behind the camera. He’s _amazing_.” 

“He always was,” Colton says, and he’s even quieter now, not taking his eyes off Tyler.

“I want to hate him,” Tyler says out loud for the first time in five years. “I want to hate him so much for closing a chapter that I hadn’t even finished yet. I felt so alone after that, I didn’t have _Teen Wolf_ , or Dylan, and we were friends, he helped me through the transition from baseball, he helped me find Derek in all his dark places – he, he -”

“You liked him too,” Colton says and Tyler doesn’t even make space for a breath before admitting,

“I think so, yeah,”

*

Billy shows up bleary eyed and angry a few mornings later, after Tyler had bullied him into a 5am work out. Tyler had a later start on set and could finally fit him in, and Billy was a proud enough guy that Tyler could wheedle him with, _you’re looking a little thick around the middle_ , and _I thought you wanted to get laid this year_. If Tyler was an asshole on occasion, Billy only had himself to blame. Billy was the biggest asshole Tyler knew (or maybe second biggest, after Mark).

“Yeah-hess,” Billy cheers sleepily when Tyler brings out the boxing gloves and pads. “I get to beat the shit out of you for making me come here at the crack of dawn.”

“You’re such a moaning little …”

“5 AM, Ty, 5AM. This is the place where happiness goes to die.”

“You know what, that feels so true right now,” Tyler teases, putting the last pad on and taking his stance. “It has never felt truer than right now when I’m sharing it with you. Now stop talking and hit me already.”

Billy cackles, suddenly finding some energy and starting his attack. It makes Tyler smile, to be like this. To relax with his friend and feel the burn of his muscles. Carrie was always confused about his relationship with Billy and Mark, once saying, _they’re Pinky and you’re the Brain_ , which not only said a lot about how old they were but was also completely ridiculous. Tyler used to be the Pinky-est of them all, and it was only with Billy and Mark’s influence that he didn’t fall completely to the Brain-wayside.

To remember that – more than anything – life is supposed to be fun.

“I know a girl, who knows a girl,” Billy says when they finish up, slugging some water from an obnoxiously large bottle. “Said we should all get together.”

Tyler pitches an eyebrow at him. “You mean like a set up?”

“No, I mean like a book club,” he groans, throwing a glove at Tyler’s head. “Yes, a set up. I know it’s been a long time, so let me refresh your memory. You meet a girl, you date the girl, you have sex with the girl, repeat.”

“Oh,” Tyler says sarcastically. “Oh, a date. _That_ thing. You’re right I’d completely forgotten.”

“I figured you had,” Billy says, but he’s smiling. “So, yes then? They’re pretty flexible, so you can just tell us when you’re free.”

“No,” Tyler says, without entertaining the idea. He’s not sure he can fit it into his To-Do List with, 1. Work out how to talk to Dylan, 2. Talk to Dylan, 3. Make a movie with Dylan. “No, thanks.”

“Gee, you spent a lot of time thinking that one over Ty.”

“It’s just not a good time.”

“Right,” Billy scoffs, and it almost sounds bitter. “You mean like before The Straight Boys movie when you weren’t dating either?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“I’d just _appreciate_ some honesty,” Billy says mockingly. “You’re such a fucking wreck these days, and if I so much as mention your work you change the subject to something completely stupid like composting -”

“I’m trying to save the world!” Tyler snaps, feeling the anger rise up. “I’m sorry that I’m not bumming around here with you and Mark and that I actually have -”

“Oh, fuck off, like _that’s_ the issue.” 

“What? You want me to go on a double date with some girls you don’t really like that much so -”

“I just want you to be happy,” Billy says sincerely. “I mean, I’m glad you have this movie and you’re acting again but is it really what you want? Because even though you felt like training and the kids was just a lay-over until you got your career back on track – you were still doing great things. You were no less of a man than you are right now.”

Tyler is completely and genuinely surprised. He just stares at Billy like he’s waiting for some kind of punch line. Like, _Surprise! Now hook me up with a hot actress!_ “Bill -”

“I’m being serious Ty.”

“I know you are, that’s why I’m freaking out.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“I’m sorry I just -” Tyler shakes his head to pull himself out of his stupor. “Thanks, man, I really – I really appreciate that. I am, though. I’m so happy to be acting again, acting on something so important.”

“Then I’m glad, dude,” Billy says sincerely. “If you are truly, completely happy then I’m glad for you.”

Tyler clenches at his water bottle and forces a smile.

* 

Carrie calls between shots with Link in the background chanting, _please, please, please, please, please_. Carrie sounds like she’s at her breaking point when she says, “If I don’t bring him to you I might take him to _Moreland’s Home For Boys_ and deny I ever had a son,” while Pattie squeals in delight at the prospect.

Tyler’s tempted to say no. They’d had a few major setbacks – not including Dylan’s silent treatment whenever the cameras stopped rolling – and Tyler didn’t need anymore distractions.

Except it’s Lincoln, and if Lincoln asks Tyler for something Tyler usually says, _sure and what else?_ “Okay, but I don’t know when I’ll be available, alright?”

They’re filming a particularly expositive scene with lots of dialogue and very little touching. It’s about as easy as it’s going to get from here on out and Tyler jumps at the chance to _nail_ it, to just get it done and get out of here.

When he finally meets up with Carrie and the kids Lincoln has lost his excited swagger and clings to Tyler’s pants like he’s afraid he might fall over with his shock. “What’s going on?” Link asks, his eyes flittering around them as people rush through.

“We’re just taking a really quick break, okay buddy?” Tyler explains, kneeling down to get to his level. He brushes the hair out of Lincoln’s face. “Then soon I have to leave and go to a different location.”

“It’s really loud.”

“Yeah, at the moment it is. It’s not like this when I’m filming though.”

“Hey, guys,” Tyler gets to his feet and pulls Lincoln in close as Dylan approaches. He’s grinning at the kids, and proffers his hand to Carrie to shake. She has Pattie on one hip and it’s awkward and they laugh, and then Pattie laughs without understanding why. “How are you?”

“Yeah good thank you, Dylan,” Carrie says, and Pattie repeats, “Good thank you Mr. Dylan,” making Dylan laugh again which makes Pattie laugh even more. The whole thing makes Tyler’s heart skip.

“That’s good, that you’re good,” Dylan says, then looks down at Lincoln who has gone slack-jawed and starry-eyed. Tyler drags knuckles across his head to get him to warm up but he seems to be frozen in spot. “You’re Lincoln, right? Dude, last time I saw you, you were only as big as a football!” 

“You met me?” Lincoln asks quietly, shrugging out of Tyler’s grip. “Were you Stiles then?”

Dylan laughs, glancing up at Tyler and then back. “Yeah, man, I was. I still am, really.”

“Tyler says his favorite was Stiles, but mine is Scott,” Lincoln says while Tyler makes every effort he can not to look Dylan in the eye. It’s not something Dylan hasn’t heard before, from Tyler himself, but at this stage in their lives it makes Tyler feel really stupid. “Do you know Scott?”

“I do, yeah, he’s a good friend of mine. Maybe you can meet him one day.”

“Wow! Really?”

“Of course! He loves meeting fans.”

“Wow!” Lincoln comes to life, jumping up and down and reaching for Carrie. “Mom, mom, can you get out the thing for Stiles to sign, please!”

They spend five more minutes with Dylan, Dylan getting down to sign Lincoln’s baseball jersey and wax lyrical about the Mets. Lincoln tells Dylan all about Tyler being a baseball player and Dylan listens and acts astounded just for Lincoln’s benefit. Tyler feels it claw at his throat, wants to tear his hair out a little so he can feel something else.

“It was so cool to meet you,” Dylan says when they’re leaving, offering Lincoln his fist to hit. “Again, that is, I met you before, remember?”

“Yeah! Are we friends now?”

“Absolutely buddy. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Tyler says his goodbyes, Link giving him a rare, extra tight hug and thanking him so sincerely it makes Tyler want to get Posey on the phone and get him here  
_right now_. Carrie gives his a reassuring tug on the shoulder which could be for any number of things, and he just stands there like a moron watching them walk away.

“Hey, Hoechlin,” Dylan says quietly from just behind his left shoulder, his hands in his pockets and toeing the ground. “Uh, Holland’s having a thing, a party thing, at her place tomorrow night. She said she doesn’t have your number so asked me to pass on the message.”

“Right, thanks,” Tyler says with a nod, and then as Dylan’s turning around to leave he hears himself say, “Hey, Dyl, thanks a lot for that. You made his whole year.”

“Sure, Ty,” he replies with a smile. “I know how much they all mean to you. It’s the least I could do.” 

*

Dylan used to eat fruit flavored ice-cream and claim it was better for him. He used to breathe and count to ten before every interview; pull some drumsticks out of thin air to beat against a wall when they were done. When it was bright, or dark, or loud, or quiet, he would sleep. Sleep sitting up and sleep diagonal and sleep on Tyler’s shoulder while Tyler went over their scenes. 

Tyler remembers all the little moments like they were a part of the show. Like he can just rewind, press play and see it there in front of him. The time Dylan leaned over to him at one of their many interviews and whispered,

“I’ll buy you a beer if you throw the word antidisestablishmentarianism into one of your answers.”

“You learn a big word today?” Tyler had asked, and Dylan had just cackled, just tapped his hip pocket and mouthed, _lots and lots of beer_.

Tyler didn’t, and Dylan had bought him a beer anyway, and it had been like that once.

It had always felt so easy with Dylan.

*

Holland’s _thing_ looks like the sort of over-the-top party she used to throw when they were younger. There’s music flooding through the house, a crowd so thick Tyler bumps shoulders every time he turns around, and he wonders if he’ll still be doing this at 50, respectable dinner events be damned.

“Shut your hole and have a shot,” Colton tells him when he voices this opinion. Admittedly Tyler is wound up tonight. He’s already seen Dylan, wearing a light grey Henley and expensive jeans like _he’s_ the only adult in the equation. Tyler had barely bothered to fix up his hair.

They throw three shots back in quick succession, because Tyler doesn’t have to get up early and because,

“I just need a little …” he tries to explain when Posey throws him a look, but trails off. Posey no doubt knows everything, let him make his own assumptions. 

“You only live once, _T-Pose_ ,” Colton teases, a little too reminiscent of Jackson for Tyler’s liking, and then drags them both off into the horde of people attempting to dance. The alcohol hits him pretty quickly, Tyler feels it warming his fingertips, just laughing and reveling while Colton uses him like a prop. 

They dance until Tyler’s not sure he can feel his feet and leaves Colton with some guy who doesn’t look old enough to be drunk. He’s not sure where he’s going until he sees Dylan in the kitchen chatting to someone Tyler doesn’t recognize, and then he just stands there. Just watches him talk like he used to with Tyler, relaxed and expressive and happy. 

When he spots Tyler he ducks his head, excusing himself and coming over. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Not bad, and you?”

Dylan allows for a small smile, and a nod, crossing his arms like maybe they’ll protect him from this. Whatever this is. “I think Holl invited the greater Los Angeles area.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “That guy was a background extra on _Teen Wolf_ whose scene got cut from the episode. I mean, how does she meet all these people?”

“She had a way of charming them all,” Tyler concedes, and then before he can stop himself adds, “So did you.”

Dylan’s laughter is a short, derisive bark, and Tyler supposes it’s fair. “Right. How much have you had to drink?”

“Not much. Are you drinking tonight?”

“No, I’m gonna head home early, got a few things to do before going back to work.”

Tyler just looks at him, and they regard each other silently. A few people have stumbled in and out, the noise of the party filtering through to them. It would be impossible to track the number of times they did this, before, how many parties they went to together, or caught up at, or shared drinks. But this, right here, will be the only party that Dylan looks at him like that.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Tyler finally manages to ask, stepping just a little closer so he can lean the small of his back against the bench. To his credit Dylan doesn’t move, just plays at his elbow and throws back his head. Tyler watches the line of his throat bouncing with his nerves.

“I guess we should, I mean, I dropped a pretty big bombshell and took off. You deserve -”

“Dyl, no,” Tyler cuts in, placing a gentle hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything, okay. I mean, yes I’m glad you told me and that we have a chance to work through this but you don’t have to go through every single detail to make me happy. I just – I want to talk about how we can move on.”

“Move on from me liking you, or move on from you hating me?”

“I don’t hate you, I _never_ hated you.”

Dylan scoffs and this time he is pulling away, just enough to make space, maybe enough to feel safe. “Don’t do that, Ty. Don’t suddenly be okay because I finally admitted I was a pathetic loser who couldn’t keep his feelings in check.”

“I’m not saying I wasn’t angry,” Tyler bites out, closing the gap again. “Trust me, I have been so fucking angry. That doesn’t go away overnight. But you trusted me to tell me how you felt and I … I trust you, and I want to start working on some forgiveness. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do.”

Tyler looks up to see more people trickling in to the kitchen, giggling and gossiping in hushed voices. Tyler places a splayed hand along Dylan’s rib cage and leans in to ask, “Can we go somewhere for a minute?” feeling Dylan still beneath him.

“To talk?” he asks, eyeing Tyler with that guarded expression, and Tyler just gives him a sharp nod before leading him out through the crowds. Tyler’s never been to this house before, Holland used to live in something a lot smaller scale, so he doesn’t actually know where he’s going. When he manages to find a small, unoccupied room, Dylan stands by the door and looks at the bed like it might eat him. Tyler remains close by. 

“I just wanted to tell you … Not long after you came to my place with those drafts of Stiles and Derek I realized something. I realized that even though I loved Brittany, truly loved her -”

“I know, man, I didn’t -”

Tyler quiets him, shaking his head and reaching out to grab at the bottom of Dylan’s shirt. “I realized that I liked _you_ a lot back then, too. I liked you more than I probably should have, but I didn’t think about it, I didn’t admit it to myself because … because things were different.”

Dylan lets out a warm breath, ghosting over Tyler’s face. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, his nails bitten down. “Don’t tell me things you think I want to hear, Ty,” he says, voice trembling and his eyes cast down.

“I’m not, Dyl, I’m not. Why do you think I could never get over it? You were so important to me, and if I ever made you feel like – if I ever led you on -”

“ _Jesus_ , stop, no. It was never like that. We were friends, you were amazing to me, I just – it just happened. I didn’t tell you expecting some sort of …”

“You don’t feel that way anymore?” Tyler asks, quiet and pressed right in and finally looking at Dylan after all these months. Finally letting himself see him properly.

“No, I mean – I feel something, but it’s not like it was, it’s not – I’ve changed. We both have.” Dylan’s hands are trembling inches from Tyler’s chest, like he wants so badly to touch but doesn’t know if he should. “Fuck,” he says in a broken breath, hot at Tyler’s neck. “Fuck, what are we -”

Tyler closes the gap, presses his mouth to Dylan’s like they had in Tyler’s front room as something else, as Stiles and Derek. It’s firmer, and more definite, and Dylan opens his mouth for Tyler, rolls out his tongue so warm and sweet like soda, like five years of resisting and they are finally coming home to rest.

“Ty,” Dylan gasps, pulling away just a little, a hand curled dangerously close to Tyler’s ass and their hips connecting, yearning. “Ty, please,”

Tyler steers Dylan until his back connects with a wall, the kiss dissolving into the press and thrust of their bodies, Tyler’s mouth along the pale curve of Dylan’s throat, grazing teeth. “Shit,” Dylan rasps, and then pushes Tyler with two gentle hands. “Shit, can we stop, sorry, can we please just stop.”

“Okay,” Tyler says, but keeps a hand on Dylan’s waist, catching his breath. “Sorry if I -”

“Jesus, don’t be sorry – don’t,” Dylan’s looking at Tyler’s mouth like he plans to go in for round two, skittish and humming and his mouth so red, his cheeks flushed. “I just can’t do this tonight. I’m – I just have to go and – and we’ll -”

Tyler grabs Dylan’s hand to squeeze before stepping back. Dylan had always been so conventional, and slow-moving, and Tyler had always respected that about him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

*

CJ looks across the table with a thick, jarring sense of dread. They’ve gathered an arsenal; guns upon guns, knives against knives, weapons that he’s not half sure what he plans to do with. He wants to go _now_ , he wants to _fight_ , but he also wants to throw it all away and pretend none of this ever happened.

“Carter,” Klein says so quietly, like they’re in a church and CJ is preparing to pray. Pray for their lives, probably.

“You should go,” CJ says, and he’s only half decided it as the words come out. “You’ve done enough, you – you don’t have to risk your life for some misguided crusade.”

“If you think it’s misguided why are _you_ doing it?”

CJ rests his hands on the back of a chair, and looks away. His thoughts journey to a lazy day at the park, Patrick perched on a low tree branch with his arms out either side. “Catch me, Daddy,” he’d said, so serene, and then just fallen into CJ’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. They’d spun and spun and spun until they didn’t know what was the sky and what was the ground, Patrick squealing into nothingness.

“It feels like the end of the world, but no one’s looking,” CJ admits, pulling out a duffel bag to start getting ready. “I just want everyone to see what they did. I want everyone to know what happened to my world.”

“Okay,” Klein says after a beat, coming around to pick up the other bag and stand at CJ’s shoulder. CJ watches him, confused, and Klein steels his jaw. “You’ve already shown me, Carter, _I’ve seen_. You expect me to just walk away from it?”

CJ takes a moment to consider that, then turns back to his work. They continue to pack their bags in silence, just the clinking of metal and the far off sounds of the world passing by. They’re like ghosts, fading to black.

“ _Cut_ ,” Jonathan calls, loping across with a grin so big he could float away on it. “Yes boys, _yes_ , at fucking last.”

*

Tanner comes over late with a case of beer and an old baseball glove. Despite the fact Tyler hasn’t seen him since he stormed out of their parent’s home like a petulant child, Tanner doesn’t say anything. He just rattles on about work and women and basketball, the two of them throwing a ball back and forth in the dim porch light. 

When he does get around to talking, Tyler hears himself say, “Do you remember Kevin?” as if it has been perched on the tip of his tongue waiting for permission to go. Tanner barely blinks an eye.

“ _7th Heaven_ Kevin?”

“ _George Stults_?”

“What?” They look at each other completely confused for the few seconds it takes them to crack up laughing.

“Kevin Hopkins,” Tyler says with a sigh. “The guy I …”

“Yeah, _7th Heaven_ Kevin.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Even Tanner looks confused. “We never called him that to your face?”

“No?”

“Huh. Well, I had a buddy called Kevin, and dad had a colleague called Kevin and you were in love with a Kevin. It all got really fucking confusing.”

“But … he wasn’t even on _7th Heaven_.”

“Yeah, but you were, and you wanted to quit so you could go backpacking across Europe or something with him, remember? But Mom wouldn’t let you and you cried for days -”

“Fuck off I -”

“Thus, _7th Heaven_ Kevin.”

“Oh my God, _anyway_ ,” Tyler pushes on, throwing the ball extra hard. Tanner has a really special ability to turn something serious into a complete circus. Tyler can’t remember why he thought this would be a good idea. “You remember Kevin, and what happened with Kevin, and -”

“Dude, you reconnected with Kevin?”

“No, no, I … I reconnected with Dylan.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Tanner shouts so loud Tyler almost worries for the neighbors. “You used to fuck around with O’Brien?”

“ _No_! No, we were only ever friends. But …”

“Holy shit,” Tanner sounds awestruck, abandoning the ball and slowly closing in on Tyler. “This explains so much.”

“Yeah, well.”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” he says again, and this time it’s almost replaced with glee. “Have you told Caz? Or Mom and Dad? Please let me tell Mom and Dad.”

“I haven’t told anyone. Well, a few people,” Tyler admits, and Tanner snorts at him. He knows how bad Tyler is at keeping his relationships to himself. At least the good ones. “You think they’ll mind? Mom and Dad, I mean.”

“What? No way.” Tyler slumps onto the porch step and Tanner slumps down beside him, shaking Tyler’s shoulder with a grin. “Come on, man, you know all they want is for you to be happy.” He pauses, and says, “Are you happy?” quiet and considerate now, and so Tanner. A person can get whiplash from his sudden change in demeanor.

“I think so,” Tyler says, remembering the way Dylan had smiled at him when he was leaving, the lingering touch of that big hand splayed on his back. “At least, I think I will be. Eventually.”

“ _So_ ,” Tanner says, pulling off his glove. “Can I tell Mom and Dad?” 

*

After a long day of filming, Tyler manages to pull Dylan away to a nearby coffee shop, quiet and practically abandoned. They chat about nothing in particular over coffee and cake, Dylan’s foot jostling Tyler’s under the table. It’s nice, which is such a forgotten feeling between the two of them. Forgotten, but maybe Tyler never truly deserted the hope that they could come back to it again. Remember. 

“My friend, Billy, he thinks Mack and CJ are running off to live happily ever after together.”

Dylan almost spits up his coffee with his laughter. “Yeah, man, no shit. They’re definitely escaping to a country that’s legalized gay marriage.”

“You too?”

“What, you _didn’t_ see it? All they had to do was hold hands in the final scene and we could have put it up for selection at _Outfest_.”

“Colton tells me I’m oblivious about these things,” Tyler says quietly while Dylan plays with his napkin. His eyes are cast down but he’s smiling. 

“Colton always thought he knew everything.”

“Tell him that next time you see him, I’d like to hear his thoughts on it.”

Dylan laughs now, glancing up to meet Tyler’s gaze. There’s something different that Tyler can’t put his finger on. The slight curl of his hair with the length, maybe, or the definition of his face, the thick, broad shoulders. Tyler had always found him attractive, but age has been good to him. 

“Were you being honest the other night?” Dylan asks, shuffling in his seat. A hand comes up to scratch at his neck, sporting the same nervous tells. “When you told me you had feelings before I said anything.”

“Of course I was.”

“I mean, really, whether you liked me then or now or you’re just looking for a good time -”

“Dyl -” Tyler starts but Dylan carries on as if he hasn’t heard him.

“I don’t think there’s much you can say to put me off at this point. Like, I’m into you, I’ve always been so into you.”

Tyler reaches for him but stops half way. They’re probably beyond holding hands at this point, and he doesn’t want Dylan to feel like he’s being restrained, like he can’t decide this isn’t what he wants. “I don’t want to just, have a good time. I mean, I want that too, I want a lot of good times but I also want to try … try for something else.” 

“Okay.” Dylan drums his fingers against the table, and they’re so close, they could touch. Back when they were _just friends_ , when the energy was there but went unnoticed, they touched all the time. They touched to say hi, and touched to talk, and touched just because they could. How ironic that they’ve noticed it, noticed their want, and they’re avoiding the touch like it might burn them. 

“Can I ask you something? About back then? You don’t have to -”

“Ty, ask. Really.”

“Was it just about me,” Tyler says, “Or was it the fear of being typecast as bisexual, _gay_ , when you were trying to break into more serious roles?”

Dylan puffs out his cheeks with his breath, as if thinking, _wow, don’t pull your punches_. “I – I guess it was both. I mean, I knew I was bi, I’ve always known that. I just didn’t get involved with guys, not seriously, because it was easier, you know? Plus I met some amazing women and it wasn’t an issue until ...”

Tyler doesn’t need him to say it out loud. “So, so if the Stiles and Derek thing was going to happen, but it was with someone you had no feelings for whatsoever … would you have done it?”

“I don’t think so. The way I felt about you is what made saying no so hard. I just couldn’t battle with both. As a personal thing I regret it so much. I regret that we didn’t get to share that. Professionally, I think it was the right choice for me.”

Tyler has nothing to say to that. He can’t pretend it doesn’t disappoint him. Or even settle in his stomach as a sad thing. Dylan must have felt distanced from Tyler, in a way, because the Dylan he thought he knew would have come to Tyler with that. Would have been completely honest.

“What about you?” Dylan says, now resting his elbows on the table to move closer. “You’re here telling me you want to start something with me but I still did that to you. It’s still between us.”

“It’s not _between_ us. The only thing that could get between us is me holding it against you for another five years. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

“Do you believe me when I say I’m sorry? Like, I have never been sorrier about anything in my whole life?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, and thinks fuck it, and reaches for Dylan’s fingers. “Yeah, I do now.”

They say goodnight molded together and pressed against Tyler’s truck, with Dylan’s blunt nails running through Tyler’s hair and his tongue in Tyler’s mouth. Dylan makes these muted little sounds, huffs and coos, and Tyler just keeps kissing him to see what other noises he will make.

“That’s nice,” Dylan says with a lazy smile, and Tyler laughs. Nice, the way it used to be.

*

Tyler has an early breakfast with Carrie and the kids, the two of them bleary eyed and barely responsive as they watch cartoons on the TV. Tyler’s always been blown away by their generation’s idea of entertainment; it feels like the more a kid’s show makes you feel like you’re tripping on acid, the more popular it’s sure to be.

“It’s certainly no _Punky Brewster_ ,” Carrie jokes, passing him a coffee when he joins her in the kitchen. “Or – what was that show you were into?”

“ _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ ,” Tyler says quickly, knowing exactly where she was going with that.

“No, no, no, the one with the teddy bear and -”

“Do you and Tanner have meetings and put together a schedule on who’s going to give me shit and when?”

Carrie laughs, big and bright, heading for the cupboard. Her PJ shirt says, _Wake Dad First_ , which became obsolete when Pattie stopped waking up in the middle of the night. There’s fruit salad, toast and pancakes on the table; the kids cereal, milk and juice.

“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” Tyler insists as Carrie resurfaces with syrup, peanut butter and jelly.

“This is what we do every morning,” she says with a smirk. “Didn’t you know?”

“Silly me. You want me to get the kids?”

“As soon as that show’s over they know to come out,” Carrie tells him as they take their seats across form each other. “So, how long has filming got to go?”

“Not long. We probably would have been done if Dylan and I hadn’t been so …” Tyler doesn’t know how to finish. Stupid, or ignorant maybe, though he knows that’s not entirely fair. It wasn’t going to take a movie and some polite apologies to fix them. They’d be working at it for a while.

“And there’ll be plenty of post-production?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a whirlwind from here on out, actually, I’m not sure -”

“ _Mom_ ,” Link is whining when the two of them shuffle in. Pattie looks like she went to bed with a braid and woke up with a bird’s nest. “It was just Pattie’s dumb show, you could have called _me_.”

“Yeah, you really looked like you were hating it buddy,” Tyler teases, ruffling Link’s hair when he walks by, grumbling. They look at the table like all their Christmases have come at once, and Tyler lifts an eyebrow at Carrie as if to say, _every morning, huh?_

Carrie just pokes her tongue out at him. “Lincoln, Pattie, Uncle Tyler’s here because he wants to talk to you about something.”

“Is Scott coming?!” Lincoln shouts through a mouthful of pancake, little bits spitting out over the table. Pattie giggles, high pitched and infectious and Tyler passes him a napkin while he tries to hold back his laughter.

“Not this time, buddy. Actually, it’s about -” Tyler looks at Carrie for encouragement and she just nods her head. “It’s about my new job, making the movie.”

“Are you making more?” Pattie asks. “Does it have princesses?”

“Well, I will be making more, and they might have princesses,” Tyler assures her. “But, see, that means I’m not coming back to play with you like I used to. If Mommy and Daddy both have to work, or if they have to go out, someone else will have to come and take care of you.”

“Oh,” Pattie says, curling up her mouth and considering her _Cap’n Crunch_. “You’re never coming back?”

“Of course I am, sometimes. Just not a lot, because I’ll be busy with work.”

“That’s okay,” Lincoln says once he’s swallowed his mouthful. “Pattie goes to school now, so it’s just holidays.”

“Yeah, and your Mom will find someone really great to look after you.”

“Not really great, ‘cause _you’re_ really great,” Pattie tells Tyler, getting up on her knees to throw her arms around his shoulders. “No person’s as big a great like you, right Link?”

“No person,” Lincoln agrees with a laugh, popping a mouthful of pancake into his mouth, the syrup dribbling down his chin. Tyler glances at Carrie, who looks like she’s going to cry – _again_ – so he quickly looks away.

“Thanks, guys,” he settles on, and, “I love you.”

*

Colton snap-chats a photo-shopped image of Tyler and Dylan, lounged together half naked and laughing. It’s old, Tyler looks so young it’s almost the worst part about it. Colton adds: 

_look how wonderful it’s going to be :):)_

then follows it with a photo of JR giving him two thumbs up.

Tyler replies,

_your contract as ‘friend’ has been terminated, you have two weeks to clear out your emotional baggage and bad haircuts,_

and can only imagine what a kick Colton will get out of it. Tyler laughs.

*

Dylan has a pale scar, a small but jagged line along his chest. He regales Tyler with the story while they lounge around in Tyler’s bed, and maybe he’s heard it already but he likes to hear it again. He wants to hear and know all of Dylan’s stories. Even the bad ones.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Dylan says, breathing out, as Tyler kisses along the scar and down the length of his body. He’s taut everywhere, and hairier, and so smooth, so perfect for Tyler to run his mouth along. There’s so much of him, long limbs and golden expanses of bare skin to map, and Tyler can’t help it. He can’t help thinking of all the time they might have had to do this, to know each other completely.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Dylan says this time, a muffled groan, as Tyler takes the heavy weight of his cock into his mouth, enjoying the feel and taste and promise of it on his tongue. He revels in it for a while, Dylan writhing on the bed with his head thrown back, and chanting Tyler’s name so quietly. Tyler wants him to get loud. Tyler wants to feel those roaming hands pulling at him for mercy.

“Can I -” Tyler asks when he’s back above Dylan, Dylan’s knees at his hips. Dylan says,

“Yes,” before Tyler can even get the words out, says yes with so much certainty Tyler barely stops to breathe.

The whole house is quiet when Tyler pushes into Dylan, just the ruffle of the sheets beneath them and the hushed sounds of the bed moving. The slap of skin and the cut of their groans and the sound of their names as they say them to each other. It’s like a dance, the way Dylan meets him, takes him, and touches him in all the right places, like a storm of colors.

“Fuck, Ty,” Dylan says, loud at last, a string of curses and biting kisses and they lose their rhythm as they begin to topple over the edge. They pulse and heave and come and Tyler can feel it humming on his skin, that feeling he hasn’t know in so long, _take it, have it all_.

“I got a text from Dean,” Dylan says when Tyler comes back from the bathroom to clean off. Dylan’s hugging himself to a pillow, the white sheet tangled around him, and he looks so serene, so at home. “They let him keep the name, for the movie.”

“The World Away?” Tyler says, crawling back into the bed and kissing Dylan’s shoulder, his neck, burying himself in it. 

“What do you think it means? I mean, _A_ World Away I’ve heard of, but …”

“Maybe it doesn’t mean distance,” Tyler suggests, and everything is still. “Maybe it means _throwing_ the world away. At least the world he’d accepted to be true.”

“Who’d accepted?” Dylan says with a smartass little smirk, and Tyler grins.

“ _CJ_.” Then he comes in for a kiss and adds, “Thanks for bringing him to me.”

*

At the airport, CJ and Klein hand over their passports and tickets. CJ’s vaguely aware of people whizzing past, hellos and goodbyes, new homes and layovers. A little girl screams because a toy she wants has been packed away and an old couple sit and hold hands. Overhead the television is playing some horrific vision on a loop, overturned vehicles and infrastructure annihilated. Five dead, the report says, three arrested.

The reasons behind the brutal conflict are unclear, though terrorism has been ruled out.

“I don’t think I look like a Benjamin,” Klein says quietly, once they’ve made it through customs. The corner of CJ’s mouth quirks up, just, and he says,

“Benjamin McKinnon. But people call you Mack.”

Mack laughs, jostling at CJ, crowing, “You called me Mack,” as they head for their gate. 

CJ concedes, “Yeah, I did,” because what’s in a name anymore?

The whole world begins today. 

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com) :)


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